


run away like the sunshine

by Pterodactyl



Category: Glee
Genre: AU After Never Been Kissed, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-20 09:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14257713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pterodactyl/pseuds/Pterodactyl
Summary: After ten years of pining, Kurt's certain that his chances with Blaine are over as he prepares to watch him walk down the aisle. But when the wedding goes awry, he convinces Blaine to run away to France to try and mend his broken heart and put Kurt's feelings to rest once and for all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hahaha hey guys whats good. i'm posting my first ever major WIP! after getting pretty much completely blocked on the thing ive been working on for the past two years i've decided to just go in a totally different direction and write a trope i've never done before, in a setting i've never tried, and try to post regularly instead of writing the whole thing in one go! so i hope you enjoy it, i definitely enjoyed writing this first chapter.  
> big ups to angie for betaing this thing in like three hours and dealing with me complaining about not knowing how to write summaries. you a real one. title from good wife by mika, because i love those unrequited love songs.

Kurt and Blaine have been - well, just that, _KurtandBlaine_ , since they were sixteen. Through thick and thin, they’ve been by each other’s sides. Kurt was the person Blaine called when his parents separated, and when Kurt’s father was diagnosed with cancer, he went to Blaine. Through breakups, makeups, friendships disintegrating, job opportunities and losses, they have been each other’s constant. So constant that most of their friends reacted with horror when Blaine’s boyfriend of eleven months popped the question.

“I thought you two were going to end up together,” Rachel had said mournfully at the engagement party. Kurt had simply sipped his champagne, refusing to entertain the notion, knowing that it would only break his heart further.

The funny thing is, most of them don’t even know Kurt’s true feelings. Mercedes does, thanks to a drunken midnight phone call in freshman year of college where Kurt had cried over how he would always be alone after Blaine started dating someone in Ohio. He’s sure Rachel has an inkling, and Santana seems to know everything yet say nothing until it will benefit her. But everyone else… well. They think that he and Blaine would make a cute couple, because for a long time they played the role of it. There was never the sexual side of things, but when single they would get each other Valentine’s day presents, would go out for dinner regularly. To Blaine it was just what two close friends did, to Kurt it was the closest he’d ever get to being in the arms of the man he loved.

But his hatred of Blaine’s fiancé - it’s not all jealousy. Part of it is that no matter how hard he tries, no matter what perspective he looks at it from, Mat (with one t, which is so pretentious that Kurt can’t write it down without feeling the urge to gag) is just an _ass_.

The worst part is just how much of a _brat_ he is. And Kurt’s not so blindly loyal to Blaine that he won’t admit his best friend can also be a bit bratty on occasion, but Mat just takes it to a whole new level. It’s like he sees his friends as toys that he needs to own, that he can’t _share_ , and it drives Kurt absolutely insane. When he asked Blaine to come over on the anniversary of his mom’s death, Mat pitched such a fit that they didn’t speak for three days and Blaine spent half the evening at Kurt’s place crying into a pint of ice cream.

Sure, those were during the early days of the relationship, and since then they’ve ironed some things out. Still, Kurt’s dislike for Mat is only outweighed by Mat’s hatred for Kurt. Though they can tolerate each other in small doses and mostly for Blaine’s benefit, there is no love lost between them. Kurt thinks Mat is a spoiled playboy with no self control, and Mat thinks Kurt is a stuck up prude who can’t take that his best friend loves someone else more than him, but Kurt has made a point of never losing his temper or starting a fight. Blaine is happy. That’s what matters. That’s why Kurt has sat through conversation after conversation about the wedding, the honeymoon, Mat and his rich family. Because it makes Blaine happy.

But even with that, the second Kurt opens his eyes to slam his fist on the alarm clock on the morning of the wedding, he sees the tux and his heart sinks.

It’s hanging from the closet in his bedroom, out of the cover so it’ll lose its new-cloth smell before the ceremony. He pushes himself upright on the air mattress lying on his bedroom floor and stares at it, crisp white shirt and grey jacket, perfectly tailored for him, and decides that he’ll wait until the last second before he has to put it on.

He glances over at the bed, sees Blaine fast asleep, face down in the pillow. Kurt wants to wake him, wants to make the most of the last few hours they’ll have together before Blaine is married and disappears to the south of France for two weeks.

But he knows that there’s a long day ahead of them, so he doesn’t. He gets up, dresses quietly in sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, and goes to make breakfast.

It doesn’t take long for Blaine to stir, with the smell of coffee brewing. He pads through into Kurt’s kitchen, yawning widely.

“Morning,” Kurt offers out a mug of coffee, “For the soon to be newlywed.”

Blaine rubs the heel of his hand into one eye, holding the coffee to his chest. “What time is it?”

Kurt glances at the microwave. “Eight. Hair starts at nine thirty, remember?”

“I know,” Blaine yawns, drags his feet to Kurt’s breakfast bar. “What are you making?”

“Poached eggs on toast,” Kurt glances at his eggs, making sure they’re cooking properly. “With granola and yogurt if you’re still hungry.”

Blaine shudders. “I don’t think I can eat.”

“Well, you’re not leaving this place until you do,” Kurt busies himself slicing avocados and scolds, “I’m not risking you fainting halfway through the ceremony.”

Blaine sits quietly, sipping his coffee. When Kurt turns he expects to see a smile on Blaine’s face, but instead his friend is staring at the counter, brows furrowed.

“Hey,” Kurt says. “Everything okay?”

Blaine blinks several times. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

“Blaine,” Kurt takes his hand. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“What?” Blaine looks up at him. “No, I’m not - I just. I can’t believe it.”

“Believe what?” Kurt sits opposite him. “That you’re marrying him?”

“That I’m getting _married_ ,” Blaine gives him a blinding, slightly teary-eyed smile. “Kurt, I’m getting married _today_.”

Kurt manages a smile back, ignoring the sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I know. You are.”

“I can’t believe it,” Blaine repeats, “In five hours I’m going to be married. I’m going to be Blaine Taylor.”

Kurt laughs because the look on Blaine’s face is honestly funny. He looks like a kid on Christmas, all starry-eyed and awestruck. “You sure are. You want juice?”

“Blaine Taylor,” Blaine repeats, “Oh my god. I’m getting married today.”

Kurt scoops the eggs out of the water, arranges them on top of the whole wheat toast and sliced avocado. “Juice, Blaine. Do you want it?”

Blaine’s still staring into space, and Kurt rolls his eyes and slings the plate in front of him. “C’mon, eat up. You’ll need your energy.”

Blaine picks at his breakfast, seemingly not hungry at all, until Kurt loses his patience and steals one of the eggs from Blaine’s plate.

“Hey!” Blaine pouts. “That’s mine!”

“You’re not eating it,” Kurt crams another forkful into his mouth and speaks through his chewing. “These are the best eggs I’ve poached in months. I’m not letting them go to waste.”

“Fine,” Blaine picks up a piece of toast, bites into it and seems to realise exactly how hungry he is.

“I have your tux in the cupboard, so once you’re done we’re gonna head straight out, okay?” Kurt sighed, “We probably should have stayed at the hotel -”

“No, your apartment is a way better send off.” Blaine reaches across the counter and takes Kurt’s hand. “Really, Kurt, thank you. It means a lot to me that you let me stay.”

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand back. “Like I’d turn you out onto the streets. Though I really don’t know why Mat insists that you can’t see each other -”

“Oh, come on, Kurt, you know he’s a bit traditional.” Blaine drains the last of his coffee, “Besides, I think it’s romantic.”

“Traditional is not the word I would use,” Kurt says under his breath, just quiet enough so Blaine doesn’t hear it. It’s his best friend’s special day. He’s not going to ruin it with snide comments. Even if Mat is absolutely insufferable.

But as the morning moves on, Kurt feels his mood get worse and worse. Blaine is just so _happy_ , bouncing and singing as they get ready to leave. He’s wearing their agreed pre-wedding outfit - smart chinos and a light pink button up, comfortable enough for him to sit and do his hair but smart enough that he’ll look good in the pre-wedding photos. And Kurt - dressed similarly, but in a plain white button up - just feels miserable. Angry. Depressed. Lonely. Pretty much any word that could apply to the situation _the man I have been in love with for ten years is getting married and it’s not to me_ works.

“ _I’m getting married in the morning_ ,” Blaine sings from the bathroom, slightly muffled by the running of water. “ _Ding dong, the bells are gonna chime!_ ”

Kurt pinches the bridge of his nose, glaring at himself in the hallway mirror. “Get it together,” he says in the most threatening tone he can muster, “This is _Blaine’s_ day.”

“ _Pull out the stopper, we’ll have a whopper, but get me to the church on time!_ ”

Kurt checks his watch. Any minute until the car arrives to take them upstate, to the stately country home that the Taylor family have rented for the wedding.

Sighing, he stares at himself in the mirror again, and practices his smile until it looks a modicum natural and not completely forced.

Blaine emerges from the bathroom, fresh-faced and beaming. “Are you ready?”

“Raring to go,” Kurt says, and smiles.

Kurt’s phone buzzes, and before he can even check it Blaine asks, “Is that the car?”

“Yep,” Kurt confirms after glancing at the screen. He slings the bag holding their shoes over his shoulder, carrying his tux and Blaine’s over one arm. “Have you got everything?”

“You have everything, Kurt,” Blaine laughs. “Tux -”

“Check.”

“Shoes?”

“Check.”

“Spare button up?”

“I have two.” Kurt pats the third bag over his arm, which has a backup tie and waistcoat as well.

“Your clothes?”

“Right here.” Kurt kicks the suitcase waiting by the door.

“Okay. Um -”

“Aftershave, first aid kit, stain remover - Blaine. I have everything.”

“Okay,” Blaine chirps, bouncing on his toes. “Okay! Oh my god. Kurt. It’s happening.”

“I know,” Kurt shoos him out of the apartment, “But let’s go. Your mom is waiting, and you know she hates to wait.”

The minute they get out of Kurt’s building Pam leaps out of the car and throws her arms around Blaine. “My baby!” She squeals, “Are you excited?”

“Mama, I’m getting _married_ , of course I’m excited,” Blaine giggles, and Kurt finds himself smiling genuinely. No matter how he feels, Blaine’s excitement is infectious.

“Kurt!” Pam hugs him too, enveloping him in a cloud of perfume, “Are _you_ excited?”

“I’ll be excited when I know everything’s going to run perfectly,” Kurt says, and she laughs. “Okay, come, come, in the car. I can’t believe he rented a _limo_ , isn’t it amazing - ?”

They pile in, Blaine almost vibrating in his seat. Kurt takes care to hang up the suit bags, makes sure they won’t crease. This is Blaine’s day. If he can help it, absolutely _nothing_ will go wrong.

There’s champagne in the car, which Pam takes advantage of. Kurt doesn’t blame her, and nearly has a glass himself, but he has too much to do. He calls the venue to make sure everything is set up, that the vendors are arriving okay. Makes sure the flower delivery got everything right and nobody has taken them out of water, because even though the wedding planner insisted that baby’s breath was ‘totally back in’ and that excluding it from the bouquets would be a mistake, Kurt is not going to let his best friend walk down the aisle with flowers that are even _thinking_ of wilting within the next four hours. He calls his dad, to make sure he and Carole woke up on time and will be there to help, and then when he’s about to bite the bullet and call Mat to make sure he’s running on time, Blaine snatches his phone away.

“Hey!”

Kurt lunges for it, but Blaine, grinning widely, tucks it into his back pocket and sits down. “Kurt, c’mon! It’s my wedding day! Let Lorraine handle everything, just sit back and enjoy it.”

Kurt grumbles a little, because Lorraine, the wedding planner, only cares about what Mat’s ridiculously rich parents want, not what Blaine wants, but Blaine’s smile is so big that he can’t bring himself to argue. He sits back, manages a smile, and tries to listen to Blaine gush about how excited he is. Unfortunately, his thoughts have other ideas.

He has been trying _so hard_ not to show even a hint of his true feelings about this wedding. It’s his own fault, either way, for never saying anything. There was a time where he thought Blaine felt the same way, where he thought that maybe they would… start something, _have_ something, but then Kurt went to college and saw what the distance did to Finn and Rachel, and he told himself no. His friendship with Blaine was too important to him, too crucial, for him to ever risk it by telling Blaine how he felt. To lose his best friend in the entire world, his confidant, his anchor, over some silly relationship squabble? To Kurt, that was unthinkable.

But now he sits here, on the brink of losing Blaine to someone who hates him, and he doubts himself. He doubts himself, and he looks across the car at Blaine’s face, and feels a lump grow in his throat at the knowledge that his chance is gone.

Luckily, he isn’t given long to wallow. They pull up to the stately home, and already Kurt can feel his anxiety kicking in. The catering vans are all there, thank god, and he can see the Taylor parents following Lorraine the planner around like ducklings.

“Okay.” Kurt takes a deep breath, holds out his hand for his phone and puts on his own wedding planner persona. “Blaine, you stay here while I go and check that we’re clear to walk you to your room without your fiancé catching a glimpse of you.”

Blaine gives him a thumbs up and Kurt ducks out of the limo with his itinerary in hand.

Luckily, Mat has been sequestered away with his own best man and their hairstylist in the west wing of the house. Kurt collects their clothes, and with Pam on one side and him on the other, they march Blaine into the building.

Kurt’s actually not seen the place yet, and as they walk through he finds himself generally… unimpressed, though he can’t put a finger on why. He pushes the thought to the back of his mind, makes sure Blaine doesn’t get distracted trying to talk to the vendors who are trying to set up.

The room they’re supposed to be getting ready in is nice. It has an ensuite, which Kurt is sure will come in handy, and the hair stylist, Sara, is already there. Kurt likes her immediately - she reminds him of Mercedes, who hopefully also will be arriving soon.

Blaine is so excited that he can barely sit still as Sara makes a start on his hair. Pam eventually is called away by the Taylors, leaving Kurt to sit in the corner of the room, chewing on his bottom lip and watching the stylist turn Blaine’s barely-tamed bedhead into something fit for… well. Fit for a man on his wedding day.

At ten the other members of the wedding party arrive. Tina is first, bringing Santana with her, and Mercedes comes next. They begin to accumulate in the room, which swiftly starts to feel a tiny bit too small.

Tina’s excitement rivals Blaine’s, and Sara tells them to get their happy crying done before she has to do Tina’s makeup. Santana sits down to be beautified first while Kurt runs to get their gowns from Carole, while trying to make sure the bouquets are _not_ being left in the sun and above all that the wedding photographer does not get any photos of him before he styles his hair.

When he gets back to the room the photographer is already there. The girls are slowly getting into their dresses, rotating in and out of the ensuite, and Blaine -

Kurt stops dead in the doorway, because he looks amazing. Blaine’s hair is styled off his forehead in movie-star waves, his eyes are sparkling, and his skin is literally _glowing_ as he talks to Mercedes. He looks the very definition of the gorgeous groom.

“Kurt!” Blaine shouts, seeing him standing there, and Kurt snaps himself out of his reverie just in time to catch himself before Blaine grabs his hand and pulls him directly into where Santana is curling her hair. “You’re late, Sara wanted to get your hair done before she started on the girls.”

“That’s fine,” Kurt nods his head in apology to Sara, “I’ll do it myself, I know what I’m going for.”

“Kurt.” Blaine puts his hands on his hips. “Come on, let her do it? I want us to match.”

Kurt’s throat catches at that, because the idea of he and Blaine matching is far too close to the idea of Kurt being the one that Blaine’s getting ready to marry, but he can’t exactly say no to Blaine on his wedding day. So he nods, rolls up his sleeves, and sits down.

Sara does an admirable job, actually. Kurt was planning on his signature coif, but the style she gives him - less rigid hairspray, more lightly tousled - works far better with the soft waves of the groomsmaids, as they’ve been named. She also provides him with some concealer for the zit coming up under his eyebrow and his dark circles, which is probably a good thing. Kurt can only assume he looks like a ghoul in any photos before Sara works her magic.

Shortly after his hair is done, Cooper arrives. His suit cover is crumpled, which gives Kurt a minor heart attack, but the suit he produces from it is flawless, thank god. The one thing Kurt hadn’t thought to bring was an iron. It takes him twenty minutes to even sit down to get his hair styled, because he keeps getting up to ask Blaine questions as Kurt helps fix his suit, and once Sara is done with him Kurt sends him off to check on the catering services. Cooper without a task is Cooper just waiting to annoy his younger brother, and Kurt’s attempting to limit that today.

By the time the groomsmaids are mostly dressed, made up and hairstyled, it’s twelve and guests are starting to arrive. Kurt, in the middle of buttoning up his waistcoat and transferring the rings from his jeans to his pants, stares out of the window at the approaching cars, only recognising some of the people who get out. He sees Blaine’s dad, and Blaine’s dad’s new girlfriend. Rachel arrives with Jesse in tow, and he’s trying to figure out if that’s Sam who has shown up when Blaine pokes him in the ribs.

“Hey!” Kurt turns and pokes Blaine right back. “Uncalled for.”

“I need you to do me a favour,” Blaine says, grabbing his hands. “Can you run to where Mat is and tell him something for me?”

“That you love him?” Kurt asks, ignoring the sour taste in his mouth.

Blaine laughs. “Well, that, obviously, but also tell him that he was right. It’s a much better idea to walk down the aisle together, instead of being given away.”

Kurt frowns. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”

“It’ll be fine,” Blaine insists, waving him off, “Please? Can you tell him that?”

“I can tell him.” Kurt tugs on a strand of Blaine’s hair. “Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Mercedes links arms with Blaine and winks at Kurt, “He’s not going anywhere.”

Kurt kisses her on the cheek in thanks and very carefully does not take one last look at Blaine as he leaves.

It’s surprisingly quiet as he winds through the narrow halls of the country house Blaine’s husband-to-be had picked for their union. It’s nice - Blaine would never get married somewhere ugly, Kurt knows that - but at the same time, it’s cold. Quiet. The place has no personality.

 _Maybe if the groom had some I’d feel a little more positive about this place_ , Kurt thinks to himself.

Well. Maybe that’s unfair. Mat has plenty of personality. It’s just unfortunate that the majority of it is incredibly unpleasant.

Kurt passes one of the huge flower arrangements that seem to have been placed on every available flat surface, breathes through his mouth so the cloying scent of flowers doesn’t give him a headache. Of course he’s a fan of the occasional bouquet, but this? It’s beyond extravagant. It’s tacky. Painfully tacky when combined with the little programmes that have been deposited along with the flower arrangements, depicting the smiling couple at their engagement party. The entire affair reminds him of the weddings that he used to thirst over in magazines when he was five, the ones thrown by people with more money than sense. For god’s sake, Carole texted and said there’s even an _ice statue._ The entire affair is so opulent and gaudy that it feels as if Mat is trying to scream from the rooftops how much money he has. And Kurt knows he’s rich. Filthy rich. And that’s saying something, because for a while Kurt thought Blaine was rich, until for their three month anniversary Mat flew Blaine out to fucking _Paris_ and Kurt realised just how loaded he was. And it’s not like Blaine hasn’t treated Kurt like that - after they both graduated college they went to California for a week. But Blaine isn’t as free with his money as Mat is, doesn’t have even a tenth as much, and something about it just… rubs Kurt the wrong way.

But it’s Blaine’s wedding day, so he’s not going to say anything. His best friend had wanted to plan the entire thing together with his fiancé, but Mat had insisted on hiring Lorraine. Blaine had decided on the cake - five tiers, _god_ Kurt’s best friend doesn’t do things by halves, and each one different flavours, but otherwise the planner and Mat had called most of the shots. Kurt had offered to help make the cakes, limit the costs, but Mat had jumped in. “No expense spared for my sweetheart,” he had said, and Kurt had tried his hardest not to gag across the table from the happy couple.

It’s not that he’s not happy for Blaine, because he is. He’s sickeningly, heartbreakingly happy for Blaine. His best friend deserves the world. It’s just unfortunate that Kurt hates his husband-to-be with every fibre of his being.

Kurt pushes open the doors to the main hall where the ceremony will be taking place, patting his pants pocket to check the rings are still there. He’s trying to find Mat’s best man, Benji, to make sure everything is in order before he passes on Blaine’s message, but the man is nowhere to be found.

Kurt sees Blaine’s mother across the hall, ticking off items from a list, and runs over to get her, asking, “Pam, have you seen Benji? Or Mat? I’m just trying to make sure we’re all ready for the ceremony.”

Pam looks over the top of her glasses, frowning. “As a matter of fact, no, I haven’t seen either of them. Is Bee okay?”

“He’s chomping at the bit to get married,” Kurt tugs at his tux, “They’re in the west wing, aren’t they? I’ll go track them down myself. Blaine wants to walk down the aisle together, he’s changed his mind again.”

Pam rolls her eyes. “Of course he has. I’ll go and rein him in while you track Mat down. And just find out where Benji is, will you? He seems to have just vaporized.”

“Great.” Kurt nods, and sets off in the direction of the west wing of the building. He assumes that Mat will be in the same room as Blaine, just on the opposite side of the house, so he climbs the small staircase that he had descended only a few minutes earlier, takes the first left, and walks down an identical corridor to the room with ‘ _Groom II’_ written on a piece of paper on the door.

“Thank god,” Kurt mutters, knocking sharply on the door and then going to open it.

The handle turns, but the door doesn’t open. It’s locked, Kurt assumes from the inside, and the only reason he can think of is because Mat is changing.

“Hey,” he calls through the door, “Mat, it’s Kurt.”

For half a minute he thinks the room is empty, but then Mat’s voice, muffled but discernible, comes through the heavy wood of the door.

“ _What is it?_ ”

“Blaine wants me to ask you a question, and Pam wants to know if you know where Benji is.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Blaine wants me to -” Kurt stops and rolls his eyes. “Look, can you just open the door?”

There’s another stretch of silence and then, finally, the door opens.

Mat is red-faced, a blush crawling up his throat from the collar of his shirt. Kurt looks him up and down for a moment, unimpressed by the job his hairstylist has done. It looks like it might have been a style, at one point, but has been ruined by having fingers run through it too many times.

“What is it?” Mat says impatiently, and Kurt struggles with the instinct to snap at him.

Instead, he smiles as genuinely as he can and says, “Blaine wanted me to tell you that he wants to walk down the aisle with you, not separately.”

“No,” Mat says bluntly.

“What?” Kurt knows the shock is easily visible on his face, but he wasn’t exactly expecting that reply. “Why not?”

“It’s too late.” Mat crosses his arms. “The music we organised is long enough for both of us to walk, if we change it now it’ll just be confusing.”

Kurt is actually annoyed by how much sense Mat is making. “Okay,” he says slowly, “Are you sure?”

“I think I know how I want my wedding ceremony to go,” Mat says sharply, and shuts the door again.

Kurt stares at the dark wood in front of him, and allows himself one moment of childishness. Petulantly, he sticks his middle finger up at the door, turns on one heel and goes to stomp back to Blaine’s room when he remembers he still doesn’t know where the other best man is.

Irritated, he turns back to the door and knocks for a second time.

He distinctly hears Mat curse, and then a thump like something’s been knocked over. Kurt rolls his eyes a second time, but manages a straight face when the door opens a second time.

 _“What?_ ” Mat asks, looking even more annoyed.

Kurt pastes on his most false smile and says sweetly, “Can you point me in the direction of your best man?”

“He’s in here with me,” Mat says, “Are you done?”

Kurt grits his teeth through his smile. “Is he planning on joining the rest of us any time soon?”

“When he’s done helping me.”

Mat starts trying to close the door, but Kurt jams his foot in it. He regrets it almost immediately - these shoes are Italian leather - but continues smiling. “Can I have a word with him?”

“Why?”

“Best man to best man,” Kurt says, his eyes narrowing.

Mat seems like he’s ready to kick Kurt in the shins to shut the door when a second voice says, “Hey, Mat, it’s fine.”

Benji appears behind the groom, and Kurt nearly loses his smile when he sees that he’s not even fully dressed yet. In fact, he looks like he’s halfway to getting undressed. Kurt grits his teeth, fully aware that his smile must look more like a grimace, and says as kindly as he can, “If you could join the rest of the wedding party _on time_ at half past twelve, that’d be great.”

He turns and walks away before Mat can shut the door on him.

Kurt pauses in a quiet alcove to fume before he makes his way back to Blaine’s room. If he dislikes Mat, he detests Benji. The man is obnoxiously rude, unreliable at best, has no manners and seems to think appropriate anecdotes for a rehearsal dinner is a detailed ranking of half of the guests from most to least attractive. He grates on every nerve Kurt has, and the fact that they’re going to have to stand opposite each other and pretend to like each other throughout the ceremony is going to push Kurt’s acting skills to the limit. It’s as if someone took all of Mat’s worst characteristics, magnified them by ten and put them into one person with bad teeth and a man bun.

But he can’t go back to Blaine in this kind of mood, so he closes his eyes, does a minute of conscious breathing, and forces himself to put it behind him. He can bitch and moan all he likes to Mercedes when Blaine is safely on his flight to France.

When he opens the door, it seems as though things have kicked up a notch. Mercedes is having the finishing touches done to her makeup, Tina is brushing Santana’s hair, and Santana is methodically separating out an entire packet of tic tacs and distributing them to the wedding party.

“What did he say?” Blaine leaps up from his seat by the window, eyes wide, “He agreed, right?”

Kurt steps closer so prying ears needn’t listen in. “He said no,” he says softly, and hates the way Blaine’s face falls a little.

“Why?”

“Your music is already chosen for you to walk down separately. He said it would be confusing.” Blaine’s brows furrow, and Kurt nudges him. “Hey. He’s right. You’ve planned this to walk down separately, right? Changing it now would just put more stress on both of you. You don’t need that.”

Blaine sighs. “You’re right. You’re always right.”

“You better get used to saying that to your husband, not me,” Kurt teases, straightening Blaine’s collar.

There’s a knock at the door, and everyone goes still, prepared to leap in front of Blaine should it be his fiancé. Blaine calls, “Who is it?”

“ _It’s Pam!_ ” they all hear through the door, and Kurt relaxes. This whole ‘don’t see the groom before the ceremony’ thing seems ridiculous to him, but it’s what Blaine wants, and he won’t sabotage it.

“Come in, Pam.”

She only pokes her head through the door, eyes wide. “Bridesmaids, we need you downstairs to organise your bouquets and hairpieces, okay? Kurt, did you find Benji?”

“Found him,” Kurt gives her a thumbs up. Mercedes holds still as Sara spritzes her face liberally with setting spray, then leaps up and grabs the light lavender scarf that matches the pocket square in Kurt’s jacket. “Let’s go, girls, let’s go.”

Tina squeals in excitement, pecks Kurt lightly on the cheek and hurries out of the room. Santana follows swiftly after in a swirl of lavender chiffon, handing Kurt and Blaine their designated handfuls of mints, and Sara checks that both Kurt and Blaine are happy with their hair and then follows the rest of them.

And it’s just Kurt and Blaine. Immediately Kurt feels his frustration melt away, Blaine’s presence almost always a balm to his frayed nerves.

Blaine turns away once the door closes, facing the mirror set above the mantelpiece. He’s fiddling with his tie, staring absently into space, and it’s a startling change from the gleeful expression Kurt had seen earlier.

“Hey.” Kurt gently spins him, adjusts the knot until it lies neatly against the bright white of Blaine’s shirt. “What’s on your mind?”

Blaine looks up at him, eyes wide, and says, “I’m getting _married_.”

“You’re only just realising?” Kurt teases, straightening Blaine’s lapel, the flower in his buttonhole. “Where have you been the past six months?”

Blaine rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I just can’t believe it. Me. _Married_.”

“You’re not there yet,” Kurt says wryly, “You still have the ceremony, the reception -”

“Shhh,” Blaine closes his eyes, a blissful smile on his face. “Just let me bathe in the moment. In less than an hour I’m going to be legally wed.”

Kurt feels the smile on his face fracture just a little, but he pulls it together before Blaine opens his eyes. “Okay, okay, you useless romantic. Eat a mint, we still have half an hour before we need to be downstairs.”

Blaine does as he’s told, thank god, and Kurt takes the opportunity to don his jacket and transfer the rings into the breast pocket there. He folds his pocket square into a classic point, knowing that Blaine and Mat will have mutually complementing but not identical folds in theirs. In no way does he want to detract from the happy couple. He checks his phone, replies to a text from his dad checking in on them, saying that he’ll see him and Carole after the reception. Rachel has sent several texts, none of them urgent but all of them in capital letters, and Kurt decides that he’ll save the answers for a face to face talk instead of trying to converse with Rachel over iMessage.

“Kurt,” Blaine says suddenly. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Kurt asks as he knots his tie, chin tilted up in the mirror. “Going to ask Mat? It’s fine.”

“No,” Blaine comes to stand next to him, smiling softly, privately. “For everything. For all your help. For letting me stay, for making sure I have all my stuff, making sure that everything runs on time…”

Kurt meets his eyes in the mirror and feels heat flood to his cheeks at the sincerity in Blaine’s eyes. “Blaine, it’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing,” Blaine persists. “It’s not. This is… the most important - the most special day of my life. And you helped it take place.”

Kurt swallows dryly. “I barely did anything. Just what I would want someone else to do at my wedding.”

Blaine grabs his shoulders and squeezes them. “Trust me, when you get hitched I’m going to be there for every single step. I’ll be a secondary groomzilla.”

Kurt laughs, because he knows it’s absolutely true. “Deal.”

Blaine hugs him, and Kurt returns the hug tightly. He turns his face into Blaine’s hair, closes his eyes and just… savours the moment.

“This wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t have my best friend here,” Blaine says when they draw away from each other, his eyes shining with tears, “It just wouldn’t. I’m so glad I have you.”

“I’m glad I am here,” Kurt says, and it’s true. He is. He wouldn’t miss this day for the world.

“It’s funny,” Blaine says, still smiling. “I keep thinking that I should be more stressed, but I’m not, and I know it’s because you’re here.”

Kurt’s eyes are welling up too, but not from happiness. He nods, pressing his lips together to keep his composure. Before he can do something stupid, like burst into tears or confess his undying love, Pam throws the door open.

“Kurt!” she gestures for him to follow her, “It’s time for you to join the wedding party. Blaine, sweetie, just wait here and I’ll be back for you in fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Sure, mama.” Blaine grins, and Kurt takes a deep breath, butterflies swooping in his stomach. _This is it. This is really it. It’s really happening._

“I’ll see you there,” he says to Blaine, and Blaine smiles so brightly and says, “I can’t wait.”

In another world, Blaine is saying that to Kurt as his future husband, not as his best friend. But that’s another world, not the one Kurt lives in, as much as he wishes he could change that. So he reaches out, tweaks Blaine’s collar one last time, and manages a watery smile as goodbye.

Pam frogmarches him down the corridor, speaking at top speed. “The groomsmen on Mat’s side apparently were all drinking last night so half of them are hungover and the other half are still drunk, so I’m begging you to attempt to control them during the photos. The girls are perfect, as usual, but I can feel Rachel’s tantrum about not being part of the wedding party incoming and I can only hope it’ll happen _after the ceremony_ -”

“Rachel knows if she screws anything up today, I will kill her myself,” Kurt says, and he’s not even joking a little bit. When Blaine chose Tina, Santana and Mercedes for his wedding party, Rachel had attempted to complain to him, which had resulted in Kurt giving her a major dressing down about her obsession with making everything about herself, which would inevitably ruin the day that was supposed to be all about Blaine. She hadn’t taken it well at the time, but in a surprising show of maturity had later agreed with him. Blaine had placated her by offering her a solo during the dances, which she had leapt on enthusiastically.

“Mercedes said she’s still on board to perform for the first dance,” Pam says, which surprises Kurt because he hadn’t realise Mercedes was set to sing at all. She’s been trying to save her voice for her new album.

Pam must notice the look on his face, and she pats his arm. “I’m still trying to get the Taylors to agree to let her do it, they want their hired band to perform. I keep saying that it will mean so much more to Blaine if his friend sings for their first dance, but they apparently don’t believe that her voice is strong enough. I sent Cooper to play her first album for them, we’ll see what they say about _that_.”

Kurt laughs. “Cooper’s being helpful then?”

“Surprisingly, he was on time, too.” Pam takes the stairs at a pace far too fast for a lady in four inch heels, and Kurt speeds up in case he needs to catch her. “Along with Michael, and his new armpiece.”

Kurt doesn’t comment on that, because he does actually like Blaine’s dad’s new girlfriend, though he understands why her presence is not necessarily welcomed.

“I don’t know why he has to insist on bringing her,” Pam mutters, pulling her phone out of her clutch to check the time. “At least she’s not in the wedding party, I’m glad Blaine put his foot down on that front.”

They turn the corner and reach the back entrance to the main hall. Kurt can hear talking beyond the doors, and with the ceremony set to start in half an hour, Kurt hopes that most people are there. The last thing he wants is for people sneaking in halfway through the ceremony to ruin Blaine’s day.

Mercedes, Santana, Tina and Cooper are all waiting, looking spectacular, even with an excessive amount of baby’s breath in the bouquets. Kurt wants to join them, but first he has to track down Benji and hand him the other ring.

And Benji isn’t there.

“Where’s the other best man?” He turns to Mat’s side of the wedding party, all of whom could be looking better compared to Kurt’s stunning friends. They shrug, looking blankly at each other, and Kurt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is he still with the groom? Or has he just gone AWOL?”

“I think he’s with Mat,” one of the groomsmen says, and Kurt manages not to sigh. Benji spends more time plastered to Mat’s side making vulgar jokes than he does actually helping with the wedding plans. When they first met, Kurt had been convinced that they were sleeping together with how much time he spent talking about Mat’s… nether regions.

 _But then again, Mat probably thought the same about me and Blaine_. _Not that I would be broadcasting intimate details about Blaine at a public dinner._

“That’s fine.” He pulls the pouch holding the rings out of his pocket and empties it into his palm, handing the slightly smaller one to the only member of the group that he knows the name of, Thomas. “You hold that. I’ll keep this one.”

He knows that within an hour, the ring in his pocket will be on Mat’s fourth finger. It’s like a brand in his breast pocket, burning a hole straight through to his heart.

“Are we ready?” Pam asks, just as the photographer comes down the stairs, “Is everyone together? It would be nice if Benji were here -”

“Can I grab a quick photo of the groomsmen and ladies before I go through into the hall?” the photographer asks, and Pam immediately starts herding them together. Cooper attempts to kneel at the front, but Pam levels such a look at him that he immediately stands and steps to the back, a sober expression on his face.

“Okay.” Kurt pats his hair lightly, shuffles behind Mercedes. He’s standing beside the one member of Mat’s party that he hasn’t seen before, and when the guy turns to grin dopily at Kurt he gets a definitive whiff of alcohol.

Kurt smiles his best _if you fuck this up I’ll kill you_ smile.

They all pose, and Kurt hopes that it’s not obvious Mat’s side of the wedding party is missing a person. His four groomsmen are dressed nicely, sure, but one of them is missing his pocket square and one’s tie is far too loose. Kurt itches to do something about it, but also knows that if he does it will just make them and by extension Mat hate him more.

“Okay, great,” Pam says sharply as she ushers the photographer on his way to start collecting shots of the congregation, the altar, and whatever else is in the hall. Kurt realises he’s not seen it fully ready for the ceremony at all, and hopes that it’s not as gaudy as the rest of the building.

“Cooper and - all of you,” Pam gestures at Mat’s wedding party, and Kurt barely manages to hold back his laughter, “You stick around with the girls for a moment, you’re walking down before Blaine does. Kurt, you can go to the altar and for _god's_ sake where is Michael?”

“Here, Pam,” Blaine’s father’s says, sounding exhausted already. Pam rolls her eyes exaggeratedly at his late appearance, but thank god neither of them start sniping at each other. Kurt’s pretty sure, even with Blaine on the other side of the building, somehow he would feel it and bring the wrath of a groom on his wedding day down on his parents.

“Let me just check the order one last time,” Kurt can’t resist interjecting. He wants to know exactly what should happen, so anyone who steps even a toe out of line can be glared at consistently throughout the reception.

Pam takes a deep breath. “Okay. Best men at the front. Mat’s cousin’s daughter is the flower girl, she’s in a back room somewhere being bribed with chocolate. Tina and Thomas first, Mercedes and Terry second, and Santana and Todd just after. Cooper, you go solo, followed by Jeremy, then we have a short pause, and Mat and his parents walk down first. Then Blaine and I with Michael. We take our seats, Blaine and Mat take the stage, and if we’re very lucky nobody will throw a tantrum.”

Kurt glances around, just in case Benji has magically appeared. He hasn’t.

Pam seems to read his mind. “Just go, Kurt, and I’ll send him through when he shows up. You’re ready?”

Kurt nods. As ready as he can be.

He takes the side route into the main hall, joining the last few stragglers making their way in at the twenty minute mark. When he makes his way up to the altar and looks out at the crowd of easily 200 people, his knees get a little weak.

“Any time soon would be great, Benji,” he says under his breath, “Any time.”

It’s not often that he wishes the spotlight weren’t on him, but he finds himself turning to the officiant just so people can’t see his face. The man officiating is a dour faced friend of Mat’s parents and Kurt’s attempts at conversation go mostly unreciprocated. He finds himself staring at the papers arranged just slightly out of view, eyes fixed on where Blaine will sign. Where Blaine will officially become Mat’s husband.

Kurt turns back to the front, preferring the gaze of the crowd over the sight of Blaine’s marriage certificate. Predictably, the hall is excessively draped in white and the smell of flowers combined with thirty different brands of perfume will probably give Kurt a migraine before the ceremony ends. Kurt can barely see a surface which isn’t covered by either layers upon layers of roses, daisies and gardenia or the programs he’d noticed earlier. Kurt assumes they contain the timetable for the ceremony and reception and an excessive number of photos of Blaine and Mat looking very much in love.

He’s startled out of his pity party by Benji arriving at the altar, out of breath and looking a little dishevelled. Kurt can’t help the way his lip curls in disdain, just a little, before Benji makes eye contact.

“You have the ring?” Kurt says by way of introduction. He’s ten minutes late, and Kurt’s not in the mood for his bullshit.

“Right here,” Benji grins, patting his pocket.

Kurt sniffs, adjusts the carnation in his buttonhole while pointedly staring at Benji’s which is lopsided. “You’re a little late.”

“Ease off, Kurt, c’mon.” He pats Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt just barely stems the urge to smack his hand away. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

 _Unfortunately_ , Kurt thinks, turning to face the front again. He sees his dad and Carol in the third row, smiling. Rachel’s in the fifth row, waving madly, Kurt wiggles his fingers in reply just so she’ll stop. He can see members of the Warblers that Blaine has kept in touch with, some of his college friends, and assorted family members. Blaine’s dad’s girlfriend is in the second row, looking distinctly uncomfortable, along with Blaine’s ancient grandma and his fitness-freak aunt. Kurt scans the rest of the room, passing over Mat’s family. He barely knows any of them, and is sure he’ll probably never see most of them again after today.

It’s quarter to one. The ceremony should start any second.

Benji is twitchy beside him, tapping his foot, and Kurt closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing again. He’s trying so hard to ignore his surroundings that when the strings and piano cover of some acoustic song starts playing for the processional to start, he nearly falls off the damn altar.

Luckily nobody seems to notice, and Kurt turns to the door at the back, which is finally open.

The flower girl comes first, and even from the front of the hall Kurt can see the chocolate smudges around her mouth. She doesn’t really throw the flower petals, more drops them to the ground in crumpled handfuls. Kurt smiles, because everyone else is, but can’t bring himself to _aww_ along when she stops at the front and helpfully empties out her little basket right where the the groomsmaids will stand.

Tina and Thomas are next, and Kurt feels his smile become genuine at the uncomfortable space between them as they walk down the aisle arm in arm. Tina looks beautiful, gliding her steps and beaming at everyone, whereas Thomas looks a little sweaty and walks kind of like a gorilla. They separate at the end of the aisle, and Tina takes her place just below him, throwing him a sly grin. Hidden from the rest of the guests, Kurt traces a _G_ for great on her back.

Mercedes goes next, a vision in lavender, with the most attractive of the groomsmen on her arm. Kurt gives her a discrete thumbs up, and she winks at him, throwing in a half-twirl as she comes to stand beside Tina.

Santana actually musters a genuine smile as she escorts her groomsman down the aisle, even with a larger distance between them than between Thomas and Tina. The poor man looks slightly terrified, and Kurt can only imagine the verbal dressing down he got if he tried to put his arm around Santana’s waist.

Cooper walks down next, drawing some laughs from the crowd as he hams it up. Kurt rolls his eyes, and luckily Cooper doesn’t attempt to tell a joke or do some sort of dance move when he reaches the front, simply bows - yes, a little deeper than needed, but better than the splits like he’d been considering - and stands besider Kurt.

“ _How pumped are you for this?_ ” he whispers, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“Not pumped enough to ruin it by whispering,” he mutters back as the last groomsman makes his way down the aisle.

The music transitions smoothly to the wedding march, and Kurt’s attention snaps to the front.

Mat enters, flanked on either side by his parents. They’re all smiling, looking the picture of the happy family, and Kurt feels his smile disappear. He tries to keep it up, looks down at his feet as tears well up in his eyes again. Beside him, Cooper prods him in the ribs, but Kurt doesn’t look around, knowing his emotions are far too plain on his face. Instead, he takes a deep breath through his nose, blinks until the tears recede, and puts on his best neutral-to-positive show face as Mat reaches the altar, and his parents take their seats.

 _Here we go_ , Kurt thinks, _keep it together._

The doors open again and Blaine steps through them, his mom on one side and his dad on the other. He looks incredible, the suit tailored to perfection, the sunlight shining through the windows making him look like some sort of vision from Kurt’s dreams. His smile is measured and a little nervous as they make their way down the aisle but he’s still so visibly excited that for half a second Kurt has to look away, feeling as if he’s witnessing a level of happiness that should be physically impossible to experience. But as Blaine gets closer Kurt can’t help but smile too, because Blaine’s looking at him, and his smile is getting bigger, like they’re sharing some sort of secret. It’s like watching the sun come out from behind a cloud, like Blaine _is_ the damn sun as his smile becomes a grin, and Kurt thinks to himself that Mat is the luckiest damn person on the planet. He’s marrying the most beautiful person, inside and out, that Kurt has ever known. He’s going to have the privilege of saying he’s married to Blaine, that he shares his life with the best person Kurt’s ever met. That he’s married to the man who can light a whole room with his smile.

Then Blaine’s eyes move to where Mat is standing, and his smile falters.

Kurt doesn’t look around, not wanting to see the expression on Mat’s face, knowing that it’ll be too close to what he’s feeling. He just keeps looking at Blaine, even as he starts to slow down, and it’s only Cooper’s low murmur of confusion that alerts him to the fact that something is wrong.

Kurt glances to the side and his stomach sinks.

Mat is backing away from the altar.

Blaine starts towards them again, confusion clouding his face, but the closer he gets the faster Mat moves, and Kurt can’t stop looking between them, thinking that this must be some kind of joke. Blaine’s mouth opens, as if he’s going to call out, but before he can Mat backs into one of the decorative flower arrangements and it goes crashing to the ground.

One of the guests leaps up to try and catch it, and he collides with Mat. For half a second Kurt thinks maybe he’ll walk back up, and everyone will laugh, and it’ll all be fine, but then Mat turns tail and _runs_ , straight down the aisle, right past Blaine, and out the back door.

And Kurt watches the sun go out.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit this took a long time to write. this chapter got way longer than i expected (oops) and i also got slammed by deadlines for uni, but im about to be done for the summer, so hopefully updates should get more frequent than once a month ;;_;;  
> once again blessup to angie for betaing this beast.  
> thank you everyone for your patience and i hope you enjoy chapter 2!

Blaine’s thoughts between when Mat disappears out of the back door of the hall and when he follows him into a small room off one of the hallways are a complete blur. All he can think about is making sure Mat is okay, certain that he must be sick or hurt in some way to react like that. When he pushes open the door to the room, Mat is leaning against the wall, pale as a sheet.

“Are you okay?” Blaine blurts out. “Are you feeling sick? You scared the life out of -”

“I can’t do this.”

Blaine blinks. Mat’s face is carefully blank, not revealing anything, and Blaine starts to wonder if he’s… missed something in the past few hours.

“You can’t do what?” He presses gently, moving a little closer. He wants to reach out and hold his fiancé, comfort him, but he doesn’t even know what’s wrong, and Mat might take any attempt at appeasement badly.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“What? I - I don’t understand.”

“I said I can’t _do_ this!” Mat spits, face suddenly contorting. Blaine stares at him, panic writhing cold fingers between his ribs as he realises that something is very very wrong here.

“This?” He steps closer, trying to reach out for Mat’s hand, but his fiancé just keeps backing away. “What do you mean? The wedding? I know it’s crazy and - a little over the top, but I don’t - if you don’t want to get married here, we can elope. We can go right now.”

Mat keeps shaking his head, hand over his mouth like he’s going to be sick. “No. No. That’s not it.”

“Then I - then we can just - we can wait to get married, of course we can wait, I just want you to be _happy_.” Blaine pleads. He can hear his voice cracking with desperation. A whisper in the back of his head says _he doesn’t love you_ , and he speaks louder to drown it out. “We can do anything, we can go anywhere, I just want to be with you.”

Finally, he grabs Mat’s hand, holds it tight with both of his, but Mat doesn’t hold him back. He just leaves his hand lax in Blaine’s grip like he can’t even bring himself to touch him.

“Mat?” Blaine whispers, tears starting to blur his vision. “Please. Please talk to me. I can fix it. We can fix this.”

“I can’t do it,” Mat looks like he’s physically in pain as he forces the words out. “I just can’t.”

“That’s okay, we don’t have to get married.” Blaine’s tongue trips as he rushes the words out of his mouth, desperate to fix it. “We don’t have to. We can just go, we’ll go on holiday and nobody needs to know anything -”

“It’s not marriage,” Mat says, just loud enough for Blaine to hear, snatching his hand back.

Blaine can feel the panic spreading, icy cold, though his veins. His voice is barely a whimper when he asks, throat tight, “What is it?”

“I can’t do. _This_.” And Mat gestures at Blaine.

Blaine hands go to his stomach like he’s been punched. He gasps, feels tears slip free down his cheeks.

“I just can’t.” Mat runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this. Marriage. Me and you. I can’t. I can’t deal with this - this bullshit, the happily ever after shit, the soulmate shit, it’s not _me_ , and I can’t do it. I can’t do it with you.”

Blaine shakes his head. “No, no it’s - we don’t have to get married. That’s okay, I don’t need to get married -”

“Fucking - it’s not _marriage_ , Blaine, it’s _you_. _Me._ It’s not - it’s never going to work. I can’t be what you want me to be.”

Blaine is painfully aware that he must look an idiot, blinking too fast as he tries to hold back the tears that just won’t stop coming. “But… but it does work. We do work. We work, we do, we’re - we’re good together, we really are.” He cups Mat’s jaw, steps in close, “We work, honey, we - I love you, I love you so much, you don’t have to change because I _love_ you.”

“Stop,” Mat mutters, turning away. He’s stony-faced, no hint of emotion, but Blaine persists, desperate, barely able to see through his tears.

“I love you, please, we can work this out. We can fix it. _I_ can fix it, I’ll fix it, just - just tell me what I have to do, tell me what I need to change. I’ll do it, I swear, I just - don’t go. Please. _Please_.” He tries to hold Mat, bring him close, but his wrists are caught in a tight grip before he can.

“ _Stop_ ,” Mat grits out again. “You _can’t_ , Blaine. You can’t fix everything. You can’t fix this. I can’t be with you.”

“ _Please_ ,” Blaine begs. “ _Please_ , please don’t leave. Please. I’ll do anything, please, I love you so much, I love you so -”

“No!” Mat pushes him back, so hard that Blaine stumbles into the dresser. He stares at his fiancé, at the man he loves, unable to comprehend what’s happening. “I can’t do this with you anymore, Blaine, I can’t lie anymore -”

“Lie about what?” Blaine pleads, “Mat, I can change, I _will_ change -”

“There’s someone else!”

Blaine’s heart, hanging on by a thread, falls apart. His words dry up, and for a painful minute all he can do is stare, his world spinning.

“Who?” He whispers. “Who is it?”

“It doesn’t matter -”

“ _Who?_ ” The word is almost a scream, and Mat flinches backwards. Blaine sees the first hint of shame written on his face.

“Blaine -”

“Tell me.” Blaine’s anguish is rapidly turning to anger. “Who?”

Mat averts his eyes.

“It’s the _least_ you could do,” Blaine says venomously. He’s still crying, but not because he’s hurt. He’s _furious_. It’s like a fire is spreading through him, banishing the ice cold panic and replacing it with white hot rage.

“It’s Benji.”

And all of a sudden the flame of rage is snuffed out, and the sadness with it. Blaine feels like someone has ripped open his ribcage and scooped his heart out.

“Benji?” he repeats. Mat nods, lips pressed together, and Blaine slowly leans all of his weight back on the dresser.

“How long?” he asks, voice surprisingly steady. It’s not logical, but he _needs_ to know. All the fear and worry and anger he had been feeling has been replaced by a deep, gnawing need for information. To justify. To understand.

“Since January.”

Blaine feels sick. “Of this year?” That’s six months. Six months that his husband-to-be had spent in someone else’s bed - in his best friend’s bed. Holding, touching, kissing someone who wasn’t Blaine.

“Of the year before we met.”

Of the answers Blaine was expecting, this hits him the hardest. Tears spring to his eyes again, but he closes them and says, voice utterly steady and devoid of emotion, “Go.”

“It’s not -”

“I said _go!_ ” Blaine’s voice cracks as he points at the door, hands shaking. “ _Please_ , just go. Leave me alone.”

He will not let Mat see the true magnitude of his heartbreak. He has more he wants to say - _I love you, I trusted you, I cared for you, I wanted to marry you_ , but he can’t. So he stands there silently, trembling from head to toe, and watches the man he would have called his husband walk away.

When the door shuts behind him, Blaine’s heart, in freefall for the past few minutes, finally shatters.

**

Kurt literally has _no_ fucking clue what is going on.

He watches Blaine bolt out of the room after Mat, and the second he tries to go after both of them Cooper grabs his arm and says at a volume that is definitely not appropriate for the number of children and elderly in the audience: “What the _fuck_ was that?”

“Nothing good,” Kurt says, his anxiety starting to build again. He turns to Benji, who looks surprisingly calm. “Did you know he was going to do that?”

Benji gives him the kind of sly grin than Kurt would seriously consider starting a physical fight over if he weren’t wearing such an expensive suit. He doesn’t answer, but keeps smirking the closer Kurt gets.

“You knew he was going to run like that?” Kurt jabs a finger at his chest, “Why the hell didn’t you stop him?”

“Hey, man, that’s not my problem,” Benji says with that same slimy grin. “I’m just here to support my best friend in whatever decision he chooses to make.”

“You son of a bitch,” Kurt spits, because he’d wager every pair of shoes he has that Benji put the idea of running in Mat’s stupid head.

He’s about to start down a path that will probably end with him being physically restrained when Pam grabs his arm, looking frantic. “Kurt, what’s happening?” she asks, panic visible in her eyes, “Do you know what’s going on?”

“He does.” Kurt points at Benji, whose smile disappears pretty fast when Pam turns her gaze on him, “You put him up to this, didn’t you?”

“I -”

Kurt’s ready to clock him in the jaw when Mat’s family joins them, looking equally as confused. Pam looks like she’s on the brink of a full breakdown, Michael looks like he’s either going to faint or make a break for the open bar, and Mr and Mrs Taylor just look baffled. They bow their heads together, talking quietly and urgently, and Kurt decides that he’s not going to wait for an explanation to deliver itself neatly to him. He’ll go find it himself.

He levels one last venomous look at Benji and slips out of one of the side doors.

It takes him all of five minutes to track down where they’re hiding. A shout echoes through the corridors, bouncing off the marble floor and hardwood walls, and Kurt turns in its direction just in time to see Mat emerge into the corridor. He sees Kurt and freezes like a rabbit in headlights, mouth open in shock, and Kurt is barreling towards him before he can think twice.

“What the _hell_ did you do?” He yells. “Are you so much of a fucking _coward_ that you can’t even talk to someone? You had to leave him like that?”

“I’m not doing this right now,” Mat says thinly.

Kurt laughs. “You don’t have a choice. I’m about thirty seconds away from caving your damn skull in -”

“Can you crawl out of his ass for one second and stand on your own two feet?”

“Can you engage your fucking spoiled prep school _brain_ for _one moment_?” Kurt is aware that he’s getting shrill and pitchy, but he doesn’t care. “How _dare_ you humiliate him like that? How dare you? Blaine has given _everything_ to you -”

“I never asked him to!”

“You asked him to get married, you _incomprehensible_ moron!” Kurt gets in his face, so angry he can barely see. “You string him along like that and then decide to drop him in front of his entire family? In front of _everyone?_ You’re a sociopath, you know that?”

“Don’t spit on me, pitchy.” Mat pushes Kurt’s shoulder, forcing him back. “It’s not my fault you’re blind to how fucking childish he is.”

“I swear to _god_ if you say another word against him -”

“You’ll what? Lisp me to death?” Mat actually has the audacity to laugh in Kurt’s face, “You’re just as pathetic as he is.”

Kurt actually pulls back his fist, the word _pathetic_ the last straw, but before he can actually deck Mat right in his stupid face someone grabs his wrist and yanks him backwards, wrenching his shoulder in its socket.

“Kurt!” They yell in his ear, “Calm down!”

“Say that again, I dare you,” Kurt snarls as Cooper steps between them, hands up. “Say it again and see what happens -”

“Son, calm down,” his dad says, right next to him, one hand on his shoulder and the other holding his wrist tightly behind his back. “Leave it alone. Let them deal with this.”

Kurt looks to his left and sees Mr. and Mrs. Taylor standing, poker-faced, next to a substantially less composed Pam and Michael. Behind both of them, the slimebag Benji stands, still smirking. Kurt lurches forward when they pass, wanting more than anything to physically remove the smile from the man’s face, but his dad holds him still until the group of four disappear down the corridor and out of sight.

“You should have let me punch him,” Kurt snaps, pulling his wrist free. There’s a sharp pain in his shoulder that he ignores, too angry. “The shit he was saying -”

“It’s not worth it.” His father looks exhausted. “Where’s Blaine?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Kurt says slowly. He’d left the main hall to find his friend, comfort him or reassure him in some way, but he got wrapped up in his own anger and hatred and completely forgot the person he came here for.

“Focus on that,” Burt says softly. Kurt just grits his teeth in silence, furious. He has no idea where to go, which direction to look in, when a door just down the hall opens and Blaine steps out.

Kurt freezes on the spot. Blaine looks numb, white as a sheet, like his entire world has just fallen apart. Pam rushes forwards, puts her arms around him and guides him gently towards them. Michael joins them, quickly followed by Cooper, creating a wall around Blaine as they slowly make their way back down the corridor towards the main hall. Kurt wants to reach out and hold him, but he’s painfully aware that Blaine would have heard every syllable of the exchange between him and Mat. Would have heard Kurt describe his humiliation, heard Mat call him childish, pathetic. Kurt catches his gaze, just for a moment, and the pain he sees behind the washed-out brown of Blaine’s eyes makes his heart ache.

“Blaine,” he manages to whisper, but Blaine doesn’t respond, doesn’t even seem to hear Kurt’s voice.

“Leave him be for a moment,” his dad says softly. “Come on. We need to break the news to the rest of the party.”

Kurt hadn’t even thought about that. The wedding is undoubtedly officially off, now, even if somehow Mat manages to salvage what he’s done into some semblance of a functional relationship. Rubbing his shoulder, Kurt pulls himself together and tips up his chin. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Blaine and his family are nowhere to be seen when they return to the hall. Kurt assumes that they’ve either moved to a different room or maybe even left the site entirely, and he can’t blame them. The entire building is filled with reminders of what was supposed to happen. Kurt would leave if it were him.

There are a few people waiting outside, but the majority of guests seem to have stayed in the hall, waiting for information. Kurt pauses at the doors, straightens his jacket, and puts on a brave face.

“I’ll break the news,” he says. His dad looks slightly surprised, but Kurt has made up his mind. He’s not going to give anyone on Mat’s side the chance to humiliate Blaine further.

“Are you sure?” Burt asks. “I was going to ask the officiant -”

“I’ll do it,” Kurt says, and catches the alarmed look on Burt’s face. “I’m not going to say anything rude, Dad, trust me. I’m just going to say that the wedding is off. They can make their decisions from there.”

“Half of the people arrived by bus,” his dad points out. “Where are they going to go?”

Kurt shrugs. “They can bring that up with the Taylors. Not my problem.”

Before he can start to doubt himself, he opens the doors and steps in.

Nobody seems to notice as he winds through the people in the aisle, which Kurt is privately thankful for as he makes his way to the front. Tina, Santana and Mercedes are sitting in silence on the steps up to the altar, all holding hands, and Tina leaps up the moment she sees him.

“What happened?” She rushes towards him, swiftly followed by the other two, and Kurt motions for her to lower her voice.

“Is Blaine okay?” Mercedes asks.

“If that asshole did what I think he did I’m going to cut him,” Santana threatens.

Kurt realises now he’s here that he doesn’t actually have the words to express what’s happened to the people he loves. He searches fruitlessly for a moment, before giving up and shaking his head.

“I’m going to kill him,” Tina says immediately. “I’m going to rip him to pieces. Did you see Blaine? Is he okay?”

“It’s not great,” Kurt says honestly. “He’s not great. Mat said a lot of shit.”

“In front of him?” Mercedes asks, aghast.

Kurt grimaces. “I’m not sure. I think so.”

“He’s dead.” Santana sounds deadly serious. “Where is he? I’ll slit his fucking throat with my heels.”

“You and me both,” Mercedes adds, planting her hands on her hips, “Please tell me you punched him.”

“I tried.” Kurt rubs his temples. “I need to tell people. Does this place have a mic?”

He has to tell the officiant first. The man’s face barely changes, he just nods and folds his hands together with the kind of expression that says _as long as I get paid, I don’t care_. Kurt was kind of hoping he’d have some words of wisdom, but he just takes a seat and pulls out his phone.

“Okay then,” Kurt says under his breath, and switches the mic on.

There’s a screech of feedback for a moment, and Kurt grimaces, but it grabs the attention of almost everyone in the room. They turn, two hundred plus faces all staring at him. For some reason, this time Kurt isn’t as stressed as he was when he first took his place at the altar. He just wants to get this done.

“Hi, everyone,” Kurt begins. He projects his voice, not quite trusting this mic. “As many of you may have guessed, there will not be a wedding taking place today.”

The entire room seems to gasp at once. Kurt hears people start to talk, maybe even a few questions, but he ignores them and ploughs on.

“I’m sure the Taylors will be happy to answer any questions you may have about travel arrangements.” A little voice in the back of his head tells him to deliver some witty jab, say something that places the blame fully on the shoulders of Mat and Benji, but he ignores it. His bitterness has no place here.

“Is the bar open?” Someone yells from the Anderson side of the affair. Kurt’s pretty sure it’s one of the Warblers.

“I suggest you go and find out for yourself,” he replies, and switches off the mic.

He places it on the table holding the papers Blaine and Mat were going to sign. The sight evokes a feeling exactly the same as what he had felt the first time he saw them - a lurch of nausea, a spike of panic, the burn of regret. But this time they come with a completely different context. Nausea that Blaine’s perfect day has been ruined. Panic that he’ll have to confront his best friend. Regret that he never voiced his fears about Mat.

“Hey.”

Mercedes’ hand slips into his and tugs. Kurt realises that he’s been stood staring at the papers for far too long, and lets her pulls him away. “Are you okay?” She asks.

Kurt knows she’s not just asking about how he’s dealing with the events of the past half hour. She’s asking about the entire affair. The long con that Kurt’s been running, pretending like he’s not burning from the inside out every time he has to watch Mat and Blaine kiss or hug or exchange _I-love-yous_.

“I’m fine,” he says, “I’ll be fine.”

“Need a drink?”

Kurt laughs, because right now he actually thinks a drink would be great. He thinks about the bottle of limoncello he and Rachel got hammered on before he got his first tattoo. If it were in front of him right now, he’d probably down the entire thing in one go.

“No,” he says. “I need to find Blaine.”

He sees Rachel coming from a few meters away, and knows if he has to deal with her he’s going to lose his shit.

“I got this,” Mercedes says, obviously reading the expression on his face, “I’ll handle her. Go get your boy.”

She says that all the time, though never when Blaine is close enough to hear. Usually Kurt replies with “He’s not my boy”, but, today, he just can’t bring himself to say it. Instead, he just nods, and slips out of the side door before Rachel can intercept him.

The wide corridor outside is starting to fill with the guests who have taken Kurt’s suggestion to find the status of the open bar seriously. They purposely avoid his gaze as he makes his way in the opposite direction to the flow of people, back into the building and up towards the room they had spent a few hours getting ready in.

Once Kurt’s out of view of the guests, he takes a moment to gather himself. Somewhere in the back of his head he knows he’s going to spend at least some portion of the day in tears, but right now, he’s see-sawing between exhaustion and anger. Kurt would like to spend a little time doing some introspection, maybe some more conscious breathing, but Blaine might be somewhere in the building, hurt and confused, and Kurt’s not going to just leave his best friend alone like that.

So he stands up straight and continues towards the room.

He can’t hear anything as he draws close, but when he knocks on the heavy wood door, Pam’s voice calls, “ _Who is it?_ ”

“It’s Kurt,” he says, and almost immediately the door opens.

Pam looks distraught. Her makeup hasn’t run, but her eyes are puffy and red and she has the look of someone who is trying desperately to control their emotions for the benefit of someone else.

“Is he here?” Kurt asks softly, and Pam sighs, nodding. She holds the door open, and Kurt steps through.

The first thing he notices is that Michael and Cooper are gone. He glances back at Pam, confused.

“They’ve gone to talk to the Taylors.” A scowl takes over her face. “Apparently, they have something they need to say.”

“And Blaine?” Kurt can’t see him anywhere in the room. Pam is about to answer when the door to the ensuite opens and Blaine steps out.

He looks completely different to the person Kurt had seen no more than ten minutes ago. His carefully styled hair is flattened on one side, like he’s been resting his head against a surface, and on the other it’s starting to break out of the pomade, curling over his forehead. His eyes are red, but there are no tears. He no longer looks blank, there’s pain on his face, a sense of confusion and shock and turmoil. Kurt doesn’t know which one he prefers.

“Hey,” he says, quietly. “Hey.”

Blaine doesn’t say anything, just stands there, blinking at him. The need to touch him in some way, to comfort him, is overpowering, and Kurt gives in; he crosses the room and puts his arms around Blaine, holds him tight.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. Blaine, I’m so sorry.”

Blaine holds him back, and Kurt can feel him shaking. His face presses into Kurt’s neck, and his breath trembles out, against the hollow of Kurt’s throat.

“I’m sorry.” Kurt’s eyes burn with tears. “I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Blaine’s hands are fisted in the back of Kurt’s jacket, so tight that he must be straining the seams. Kurt squeezes tight, like he can press the hurt out of Blaine, rubbing a circle between his shoulder blades.

After what feels like an eternity, Blaine’s grip on his tux loosens, and Kurt pulls back enough to catch a glimpse of Blaine’s face. He still looks crushed, but now he meets Kurt’s gaze and Kurt knows he’s actually being seen.

“There you are,” Kurt says, relieved, and Blaine lets out a raspy laugh. He rubs his eyes, and Kurt squeezes his arm gently, not really knowing what to say.

“I feel like crap,” Blaine says quietly.

Kurt bites his bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Coop told me you tried to punch him.”

Kurt grimaces. “A moment of weakness.”

Blaine snorts. “Seems like you’re both prone to those.”

It’s not said malevolently, but it makes Kurt’s curiosity pique. “What do you mean?”

Blaine takes a shaky breath, not meeting Kurt’s gaze. “There was someone else.”

“ _What?_ ” Kurt says incredulously. “There was _what?_ ”

“Benji,” Blaine whispers. “It was him. The whole time.”

“What do you mean _the whole time?_ ” A dark feeling is starting to descend over Kurt. He has a nasty feeling about what Blaine’s going to say next.

Blaine’s voice catches, and his eyes start to shine with tears. “Since the January before we met. The whole time, Kurt. The whole time.”

Kurt’s fists tighten. “He - he cheated on you? He cheated on you with that asshole?”

Blaine nods. His lips are pressed together, clearly trying not to cry, but tears start to drip off his chin steadily anyway. “And that’s why he won’t marry me.”

It’s like saying those words are the last straw. Blaine’s shoulders hunch, and he covers his mouth with one hand, eyes closing. Muffled sobs shake his body, and Kurt puts an arm around him. His mind is spinning, making connection after connection. _Mat answering the door breathless. Benji being in the room with him, undressed. Not telling me he was there. Being late._ Every salacious story told with a wink in Mat’s direction, every lewd joke punctuated with a jab to his ribs, it all falls into place, and Kurt could _kick_ himself. He had all the pieces to prevent this, he just didn’t put it together.

“I n-n-never saw,” Blaine whispers. “I never even g-guessed, Kurt. I never _knew_. How could I n-not know?”

Kurt doesn’t know what to say. Guilt consumes him. _He_ knew, he knew in the back of his mind that something wasn’t right, but he never said anything. Why? Because he wanted Blaine to be happy?

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Blaine, I’m so sorry.”

Blaine doesn’t reply, his head leaning against Kurt’s shoulder as he cries. Deep, jagged sobs, so violent that Kurt is suddenly scared Blaine will shake apart right there. He looks around the room, finds it empty. Pam must have left them alone at some point.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, rubbing Blaine’s arm gently. “It’s going to be okay, Blaine. You’re going to be okay.”

Blaine sniffles, covers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry, I’m a m-m-mess -”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Kurt says fervently. “You have nothing to apologise for, Blaine. You didn’t do _anything_ wrong.”

“I g-got snot on your shoulder,” Blaine says, peering out from behind his fingers. Kurt tugs the perfectly folded pocket square from his jacket, gently pulls Blaine’s hands away from his face and presses the pocket square into them.

“Fuck the jacket,” he says. “I don’t care.”

Blaine blows his nose delicately in one corner, then dabs his eyes with the other. He takes several deep, shaky breath, each steadier than the last, closes his eyes for a moment, and then nods. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to be -”

“I’m okay,” Blaine says again, a little more forcefully this time. Kurt gets the message. Blaine stands, walks to the ensuite, and a few seconds later, Kurt hears the faucet turn on.

He’s clearly looking for space, so Kurt takes the opportunity to breathe, rubbing his eyes. He no longer wants to cry. He wishes that his dad had just been a few seconds later, that Kurt had managed to punch Mat hard enough to really cause some damage. Maybe a set of bruised knuckles would help offset the guilt that’s slowly, steadily starting to consume him.

**

Blaine shuts the ensuite door behind him and immediately turns the water on. It’s a trick he learned early on in his teen years, when the bathroom was the only space where he could cry and not worry about being interrupted. Now, though his eyes burn and his throat aches, he doesn’t actually have it in him to shed any more tears. Instead he looks at himself in the mirror, feeling exhausted all the way down to his bones. He looks awful, his face puffy and blotchy, but he can’t bring himself to actually care. There’s no point. He’s not getting married today.

The tie suddenly feels like it’s choking him, and Blaine fumbles to rip it off. He flings it at the counter, but misses and it falls into the sink, under the stream of water. Blaine watches the lavender material turn dark purple, and the burning his eyes increases.

The ties had been one of his few inputs into the wedding. He had wanted to wear a bowtie, but the wedding planner said that they were out for grooms, considered tacky. Then they were supposed to be grey, a darker shade than their tuxedos, but Blaine had put his foot down and said that he wasn’t going to wear a completely monochrome outfit to his wedding. So they compromised. Lavender ties, lavender pocket squares, lavender dresses for his groomsmaids.

And the whole time, when Blaine was blissfully imagining their future, Mat was going to bed with someone else. All Blaine can think of is evenings where Mat said he was working late. When he said he was going out for drinks with his friends, or with his work, and Blaine had believed him. _Trusted_ him. Waited for him at home like a good little housewife. God, they must have laughed at him. Called him stupid. Wondered how he didn’t pick up on it.

Did Mat ever plan to marry him? Or was it just a game that got out of hand?

Blaine’s legs feel unsteady again. He leans against the wall, breathing too fast, and can feel an anxiety attack looming. Therapy has taught him ways to stave them off, but he can’t bring himself to. He just lets the wave build and build, until it’s looming over him, ten stories tall and ready to crush him under its dark weight. He thinks about the look on his mom’s face when he told her. The shock in his father’s eyes. The shame in his chest swells until he feels two feet tall, cowering under the impending wave of panic.

And then someone knocks on the door.

“ _Sweetie? Are you in there?”_

His mom’s voice is muffled through the door and over the sound of the faucet, and Blaine rushes to answer, knowing she’ll probably knock the door down if he doesn’t reply. “I’m here,” he calls back roughly, splashing cold water on his face. The hairstyle he had been so happy with is ruined, and Blaine combs his wet fingers roughly through it until it’s unrecognisable. Until it’s turned back into the unruly curls he finds so frustrating.

“ _Are you okay?_ ”

Blaine turns and opens the door, too tired to shout through it. “I’m fine,” he says, meeting the concerned gaze of his parents. His father, not one to show emotion even at the best of times, is predictably stone-faced, but his mom looks like she’s been crying even more.

“What’s happening?” he asks, not wanting to dwell on his emotions any further, “Has everyone… gone?”

His parents look at each other, as if daring the other to answer. Luckily, Cooper has no such qualms.

“Half of the guests have gone to take advantage of the bar,” he says bluntly, “The other half are still in the hall gossiping. The Taylors wanted to cancel the whole affair, but I told them if their son is going to be such a dick we should at least be allowed to drink to his pigheadedness.”

“ _Cooper_ ,” his mom snaps, but Blaine holds up his hand. “Mom, it’s fine. I could really do with a drink.”

Actually, the thought of ingesting anything - even if it’s alcohol - makes him want to throw up, but he’s pretty sure drinking is what he’s supposed to do in this scenario. If there is a handbook for _how to act when you get left at the altar_ , it probably includes a lot of alcohol.

His parents both have the expression of two people who aren’t quite comfortable with their kids drinking liberally around them yet, but neither of them speak up. Cooper looks relieved by his reply, as if it’s evidence that Blaine isn’t quite as affected as he thought.

“Your friends want to talk to you,” his mom says. “Should I let them up?”

Blaine nods. He doesn’t really want to see anyone, but he knows they must be worried out of their minds. Plus, the more people in the room, the less attention on him. It feels like he’s under a microscope, and he hates it.

“Do you want anything to eat?” his mom asks. “Or to drink - that isn’t alcohol? Maybe a soda?”

“I’m okay,” Blaine says. There’s a low chaise lounge next to him where the girls had left their clutches and bags, he clears a small space and sits down in the hopes it’ll stop his head from spinning.

“Are you sure? There’s just so that’s going to go to waste -”

“ _Mom_ ,” Cooper says lowly, and Blaine feels nausea gather in his stomach. There is so much that’s going to go to waste, she’s right. The canapés, the three course meal, the _cake_ -

He forces himself to stop there, lest he start crying again. His mom looks startled by the implications of her own words, and with a sense of dread Blaine sees tears gather in her eyes again.

“I’ll have some crackers,” he says, to placate her. “If there are any. And maybe, um, a glass of… something. I don’t mind what.”

“Right.” She nods several times. “Okay. I’ll be right back, okay sweetie?”

She kisses him on the forehead, and Blaine manages his best approximation of a smile before she disappears.

“I’ll go and grab the alcohol,” Cooper announces to the room in general, before following his mom hastily. His dad hesitates for a moment, glancing between the door and Blaine, before offering him an unconvincing smile and leaving too.

Blaine is more relieved than anything. Any attempt his dad may make to comfort him would be clumsy though well-intentioned, but Blaine just doesn’t have the energy to receive it. He wants to keel over and sleep until he doesn’t hurt any more.

But with the departure of his family, he realises that Kurt hadn’t left.

His best friend is sitting in the chair Sara had sat in only a few hours earlier, staring down at his hands. Blaine hears him inhale and exhale steadily several times, and knows Kurt is doing the conscious breathing that he uses whenever he feels out of his depth.

Then he looks up, and the anger behind his eyes startles Blaine for a moment, before Kurt contains it and gives him a shaky smile instead. Silently, Blaine pats the seat next to him.

Kurt is clearly so relieved at the motion that he nearly trips in his haste to get up. Blaine pushes Santana’s jacket back on the lounge so Kurt can perch on the edge like him, taking his hand.

“How are you doing?” he asks quietly. “You wanna get out of here?”

Blaine shakes his head. He knows Mat has probably bailed, and someone needs to stick around to decide what’s going to happen with what’s left of their wedding.

It’s like Kurt reads his mind, because he immediately offers to stay.

“I can organise this for you,” he says, still squeezing Blaine’s hand. “I’ll figure something out. You know I can think on my feet.”

Blaine manages a tiny smile at that. If New Directions taught Kurt anything, it was how to adapt quickly.

“I owe it to everyone who came,” he says, squeezing back. “It’s not fair to them.”

He feels Kurt’s incredulous stare bore into the side of his head the second the words leave his mouth.

“Not fair to them? Blaine, it’s not fair to _you_. You don’t have to stay here just because you feel like you owe it to anyone. God knows, if it were me, I’d be out of here the second I could call an Uber.”

Blaine actually laughs. “I don’t think think this would ever happen to you, Kurt. You’re the only person I know with standards higher than myself.” His smile fades quickly, and he adds quietly, “Though I guess my standards aren’t that high, after all.”

Kurt doesn’t reply, just reaches over and lays his spare hand on Blaine’s knee. His hand is warm, and Blaine closes his eyes and leans his head on Kurt’s shoulder, trying not to cry. It seems like every time he thinks he’s all out of tears, another thought triggers a fresh supply.

“You know, Rachel said her new male lead’s grandfather was in the mafia.” Kurt’s voice is thick with tears too, but he does a good job of powering through. “Maybe we can put out a hit.”

Blaine lets out a half-sob half laugh. “Seriously?”

“Well, it was Rachel, so take it with a pinch of salt.” Kurt’s hand is rubbing reassuring circles on his knee. “But there’s no harm on trying. I bet Artie knows how to get on the dark web.”

Blaine snorts. “I think they’d catch me pretty fast.”

“I’ll be your alibi,” Kurt puts on a high pitched voice and says, “ _No, officer, he was with me the whole night!_ ”

Blaine giggles pitchily. “Foolproof.”

“Exactly,” Kurt sighs. “And if we do get caught we can just _Thelma and Louise_ our way out of there.”

“Kurt, they died,” Blaine reminds him, dabbing at his eyes with Kurt’s pocket square again.

“Oh, shit, they did,” Kurt mumbles. “Never mind. Bonnie and Clyde?”

“They died, too.”

Kurt is silent for a moment, then appears to brush it off. “Oh well. We’ll just be the first. Kurt and Blaine, the killer duo.”

Blaine sniffs, and realises there are teardrops on Kurt’s shoulder again. “Oh, geez,” he mumbles. “I keep crying on you.”

“Isn’t that what best friends are for?”

They sit quietly for a moment longer, and Blaine starts to feel a little more settled, a little more in control.

And then the door opens. Tina, Mercedes and Santana rush in, and Blaine feels the humiliation return at the pity on their faces.

“Blainey-days!” Tina cries, enveloping him in a hug. Blaine hugs her back, because he hates seeing her sad, even though his skin is crawling with shame.

“I’m so sorry,” she sniffles. “I don’t know why this happened!”

 _I do,_ Blaine thinks, and tries not to let the feelings of inadequacy show on his face. “It’s okay,” he says lamely. “Don’t worry.”

Santana unpeels Tina from him gently so Mercedes can give him a slightly less tight hug. “I’m here if you need to talk,” she says softly, patting his face. Blaine swallows past the lump in his throat and nods, his eyes watering.

Santana looks uncomfortable, but she puts an arm around Blaine’s shoulder and squeezes him. “I’ll kill him for you,” she offers, acting as if she hasn’t been crying.

“Kurt said that too,” Blaine mumbles, managing a smile. A tear slips free, and in a surprising show of tenderness, Santana tugs her scarf off her shoulders and dabs his cheek with it, then glances over her shoulder. Blaine does too, sees that Kurt, Tina and Mercedes are huddled on the other side of the room.

“Hold my scarf,” Santana says, and turns towards the chaise lounge. Blaine watches her dig through the pile of jackets and purses for a moment before she emerges with a small silver object.

“You brought a flask?” Blaine blurts, realising what it is.

Santana shrugs, unscrewing the top. “You never know when someone will need some hard liquor.”

She takes a long swig, then hands it to Blaine. Blaine sniffs it, tries not to wrinkle his face at the smell of whiskey, and takes a hesitant sip. It burns all the way down. Blaine’s never been a whiskey person. He tries not to grimace, but is unsuccessful.

“You hold on to that,” Santana pats his arm, “Consider it a gift.”

Blaine sits himself back down on the lounge, flask in hand, and takes another sip.

His mom returns a few minutes later, a plate loaded with food in hand. Nausea rolls in Blaine’s stomach, and he immediately regrets downing the whiskey.

“There you go, sweetie,” she says. “I got crackers, and cheese, some grapes, some bread -”

“Thank you, Mom,” Blaine says, taking the plate. He rests it on his lap, trying to bring himself to eat any of it.

“Do you want something else?” she presses. “I can go back -”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine picks one of the crackers up, breaks it in half, and holds it up to his mouth in the hopes she’ll stop staring at him.

She doesn’t.

Blaine puts the cracker in his mouth and chews. It tastes like cardboard, but he manages a smile and swallows without gagging. His mom looks relieved.

“Your dad’s just organising a car to come around and then we can go,” she says, sitting beside him.

Blaine blinks. “Go? What do you mean go?”

“Go home.” She looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Go back to the hotel and get a flight. Why - you want to stay?”

“I need to fix things,” Blaine says. “I need to - all this food is going to go to waste, and I need to talk to Mat.”

He nearly chokes on the name, but manages to force it out. His mom looks completely floored.

“Sweetie,” she says softly. “I don’t think you can fix this.”

“Not with him,” Blaine says, determined to make it through the conversation without crying, “With other people. We need to - to organise what we’re going to do with the food, and the cake, and the vendors, if we’re going to pay them -”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to -”

“I _do_ , Mom, because I know he’s not going to. I can’t let all of this go to waste. It’s so much food, so much money, I just can’t let them throw it all away, that’s just stupid, I can’t -”

“Blaine, baby, breathe.” She strokes his cheek soothingly. “Let me fix that, okay? Let me do it. I didn’t help here at all. So let me do this.”

Blaine feels tears burn in his eyes. “Mom -”

“I will text you, I will call you, I will run everything by you. But you don’t need to be here. Please, sweetie, let me call a cab and send you home. Okay?”

Blaine breathes in. Breathes out.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. Okay. But just - just make sure that everyone gets paid. The vendors. They came all the way here, it’s not fair for them to - not get paid, even if the event isn’t happening.”

“I will,” she confirms. “Can I call you a cab?”

“Yes.” Blaine pinches the bridge of his nose. “And I’m sure people will leave, so the vendors should be able to eat. They should get to eat. Um, and just - I don’t know if there are any charities that take donations of food, but maybe call some, see if they can take what people can’t eat. Please make sure that it doesn’t go to waste, okay?”

“I will, sweetie, but are you -”

“Please, Mom, if I have to think about all that food just going in the trash I will go insane.” Blaine’s voice cracks embarrassingly. “Please just make sure it doesn’t go to waste.”

He doesn’t know why he’s obsessing over the food like this, but he can’t stop thinking about it. Blaine had wanted to pick the menu together, but Mat hadn’t been interested. He said that it would just be stressful, organising everything, with everyone’s dietary requirements. The planner just took their favourite foods and ran with it. And now it’s not even going to happen, and all that food is just going to get thrown in the trash, and it’s such a waste, it’s such a huge waste -

“I’m calling an Uber now,” his mom says. “And I’ll come by later -”

Blaine suddenly remembers where home is.

“Wait, Mom,” he says quickly. “Wait wait wait, I don’t - I can’t -”

He can’t go back to their apartment.

Blaine feels sick at the thought. To the bed where they made love. The kitchen where Blaine cooked breakfast. The hallway where they kissed goodbye each day. Where Blaine told him _I love you_.

Where Mat lied to him.

For every single day of their relationship.

And Blaine loved him, like an idiot, Blaine _loved_ him.

He had thought Mat was it. He was sure he would spend the rest of his life with him. That they would grow old together.

Hadn’t he?

Or had he been overcompensating?

“You can’t go where?” his mom asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Blaine struggles to find words for a moment, before he just says lamely, “Home. I can’t go home.”

She just looks at him like she has so many times today. Concerned, but confused.

“I can’t go back to our apartment,” he confesses lowly, and her eyes widen. She opens her mouth but has nothing to say, and Blaine knows he’s being a coward. But he can’t go back to his own home. Where can he go?

“Come back to mine.”

Blaine looks to his left and finds Kurt standing beside him, his tie loosened and jacket unbuttoned.

“You can stay with me,” Kurt says, and Blaine feels his legs go weak in relief.

“Are you sure?” Pam turns her gaze on Kurt now, “Kurt, I can’t ask you to -”

“You’re not asking, I’m insisting,” Kurt says firmly. Blaine can see in the set of his jaw that his mind is made up. “I’ll give you my keys.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, “I - I don’t -”

Kurt fixes him with his determined stare, and Blaine’s words dry up in his mouth. He searches fruitlessly for a few moments, before finally settling on a quiet, “Thank you.”

A smile tips the corner of Kurt’s mouth. “It’s nothing. I’ll stick around and help Pam sort everything out.”

Blaine nods, relieved to know Kurt will be there. As much as he wants his best friend by his side, he knows Kurt’s organisational drive will help counter his mom’s slight scatterbrained tendencies, and he’ll probably sleep easier knowing Kurt was around making sure everything was done right.

His mom has walked away to find her phone, and Kurt takes her seat beside him. He rests his hand on Blaine’s knee and says softly, “You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” Blaine says, trying to sound confident, “I promise.”

“Take someone with you,” Kurt says. “Please. You don’t need to sit in my apartment by yourself for hours.”

“I can take care of myself.” Blaine’s starting to feel a little frustrated. “I’m not a baby.”

“I know you’re not.” Kurt squeezes his knee. “But you shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

Blaine feels the ever-present lump in his throat grow. Kurt’s right. Sitting alone will only let him stew in his own thoughts.

“Do you want me to come?”

Blaine squeezes his eyes closed against the tears that are threatening to well over. He does. He wants Kurt to come with him, and he wants to watch stupid reality TV and drink wine and pretend that this whole horrible affair didn’t happen.

“No,” he says, and by some miracle his voice doesn’t shake. “It’s okay. I’ll ask one of the girls.”

Kurt doesn’t press further, thank god. He just nods, pats Blaine’s knee, and leaves him alone.

Blaine asks Santana to come back with him; he’s not strong enough to deal with Tina’s tears or Mercedes’ sympathy. Santana delivers the right amount of scathing commentary to keep his mind off what’s happened, and as long as they don’t get drunk, she probably won’t cry. At least, that’s what Blaine’s hoping.

He doesn’t get long to hope, because the Uber arrives surprisingly quickly. The feeling of relief washes over him like a tidal wave, flooding every miserable corner of his mind, sweeping away the cobwebs. He’s leaving. He doesn’t have to look at one more copy of those programmes of him and Mat at their engagement party, kissing. Doesn’t have to look at his own idiocy, his foolish smile, too in love to ever see what was coming.

The relief lasts all of seven minutes. As the car pulls away, Kurt getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, Blaine feels the relief condense into a small, cold feeling in his stomach.

He’s not getting married today.

The man he loves doesn’t love him. Maybe he never did.

And now he is alone.

Blaine rests his head against the window and watches the world go on without him.

**

It’s nearly six when the cab turns down onto Kurt’s street. The familiar red brick of his apartment building is like a beacon in the night, and he almosts forgets his bags in his haste to get home.

He hits the buzzer for his apartment, leaning heavily on the door until it swings open. He barely remembers to hit the button for his floor, just relieved to be home. When he steps out into the hallway the door to his apartment is open and Santana is standing in the hallway, holding a glass of something that looks like tequila.

“You’re home,” she says dryly. “Welcome.”

“I see you got into my liquor,” Kurt says, lugging his bags behind him. “Is Blaine okay?”

Santana holds the door open for him. “Depends on your definition of okay.”

Kurt’s too tired for her word games. “Come on, San, you know what I mean. How’s he coping?”

She sighs, shutting the door behind him. Kurt slides the latch on.

“He took a shower when we got back, was in there for, like, an hour. Since then he’s been on the couch making his way through a tub of cookie dough ice cream and watching Deadliest Catch.”

Kurt grimaces. Deadliest Catch is his go to show when he’s had a bad day. It’s probably the first thing Blaine found on his DVR.

“Did you guys call for takeout?” Kurt can smell Chinese food coming from somewhere in his apartment.

“I did. He wouldn’t eat it.” Santana picks up a box of takeout with a set of chopsticks sticking out of it. “Have at him, Hummel. I’m done babysitting for the day.”

Kurt glares at her, and she shrugs.

“You can stay the night if you want,” he says once it becomes apparent that she’s not going to apologise. “I’ll take the couch, you can have the air mattress.”

“No thanks,” she speaks through her mouthful. “The stench of sadness in here is starting to give me a headache. I’d rather go home.”

“ _Santana_ ,” he hisses, painfully aware of how thin the wall between the hallway and the kitchen-slash-living room is. “Would you think before you speak?”

A flash of shame crosses her face. “Sorry,” she says quietly, “It’s been a bad day.”

“I know,” Kurt sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Are you okay?”

“I’m drinking tequila,” she says by way of an answer. Kurt takes that as a no.

“Listen,” he says, “I’ll call a cab for you. I dropped ‘Cedes before I came here, so I know she’s home. Go have a girls evening there.”

“Maybe.” Santana examines her nails. What’s left of the polish is a light shade of purple instead of her usual French manicure.

Kurt’s known her long enough to know when she’s hiding her emotions. He puts his arm around her and squeezes lightly. “Thank you. For taking care of him. I owe you.”

She flashes him a half smile. “You always owe me.”

“I’ll pay you in tequila?”

“Or sex.” She says it just to make him squirm. “But tequila is good too.”

They stand in silence for a moment, Santana’s head on his shoulder, before she clears her throat and shakes her head. “I’ll call my own cab. Try and get him to eat, okay?”

“I will,” Kurt watches as she slips her shoes back on, “Are you sure you don’t want me to -?”

“I’m a big girl.” She pats his cheek gently. “I’ll be okay.”

“But you’re going to Mercedes’ place, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “If that’s what it’s going to take to stop you texting me asking if I’m okay all evening? Yes, I’ll go.”

“Okay,” Kurt nods, “Good.”

Santana shrugs into her jacket and picks up her purse. Kurt opens his arms for a hug, and she huffs, but puts her arms around him begrudgingly.

“Love you, San,” he says.

“You too.” She kisses his cheek, “Take care of him?”

“You know I will.”

“Good.” She nods, and then she’s gone.

Kurt sags against the wall, exhausted. He wants to slide down onto the floor and go to sleep right there, unpacking be damned. He wants to go back in time and take the batteries out of his alarm, or better yet, go back to the day Mat and Blaine met and push the idiot in front of a bus.

But he can’t do that, so he allows himself a few seconds and then drags himself through into the kitchen.

There’s takeout on the counter - prawn crackers, some sort of chow mein, and Kurt’s go to order, beef in black pepper sauce. Santana must have ordered for him. He rolls his eyes to the ceiling, sends out a thank you. There’s two spring rolls wrapped in white paper, as well as a carton of rice that’s still warm. Suddenly Kurt’s stomach remembers that he’s barely eaten at all that day and lets out a loud growl.

“Kurt?”

“Hey.” Kurt abandons his food for the moment and leans over the back of the couch. “How are you doing?”

Blaine’s lying on his back, wearing one of Kurt’s old Hummel Tires & Lube shirts and a pair of sweatpants that he vaguely recognises from when he thought he might pick up jogging. The empty tub of ice cream is on the coffee table, a large ring of condensation around it.

“Okay,” Blaine says, despite the fact that he is visibly not okay. “I ate most of your ice cream.”

“I don’t like cookie dough anyway,” Kurt lies. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Blaine puts his arm over his eyes. “I’m good.”

“You should eat,” Kurt says. “It’ll make you feel better. Ice cream doesn’t sit well on an empty stomach.”

Blaine moves his arm just enough to squint at Kurt. “You are living proof that is not true.”

Kurt sighs. “Touché. Mind if I eat?”

Blaine makes a vague motion with his hand that Kurt takes as a yes. He returns to the counter, empties the plastic takeout tupperware of black pepper beef onto a plate and puts it in the microwave. There’s chopsticks sitting next to the bag of prawn crackers, but he forsakes them for a fork instead. Kurt has nowhere near enough brain cells to manipulate chopsticks today.

He returns to the couch with his plate of food and the bag of crackers, nudges Blaine’s foot. “Move over?”

Blaine lifts his legs just enough so that Kurt can slide under them, then lets them fall onto Kurt’s lap. He’s wearing mismatched socks.

“What are we watching?” Kurt fakes surprise when he looks at the TV. “Deadliest Catch?”

“Yeah,” Blaine mumbles as the TV plays quietly in the background.

The volume is so low that Kurt doubts Blaine’s really paying attention, but he doesn’t say anything. They sit in silence as the show plays, Kurt eating and Blaine lying there. Every few minutes Kurt glances over, trying to figure out how he’s feeling, but Blaine’s expression is completely unreadable. He’s looking but not seeing, and Kurt’s pretty sure if asked Blaine would have no idea what was playing.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” he presses. “Did you eat something when you got here?”

“I’m sure,” Blaine says, still with that vacant look on his face.

Kurt presses further. “There’s Chinese in the kitchen. Santana got chow mein. And spring rolls -”

“Can you just leave it?” Blaine snaps. “I said I’m not hungry!”

Kurt sits there, startled by the outburst.

Blaine stands up abruptly, jaw clenched tight, and says through gritted teeth, “I’m going to shower.”

He stomps out of the room before Kurt can say anything, leaving a distinctly uncomfortable atmosphere. Kurt looks down at his plate, frustrated. Usually he’s the one who puts up walls when he’s hurt, and he’s not used to dealing with it from Blaine.

The pipes screech as the shower turns on and Kurt lets his head fall back against the couch. He and Blaine have comforted each other through breakups before, but nothing like this. He’s uncomfortably out of his depth.

Kurt switches the TV off and puts his plate on the coffee table, his appetite gone. He considers knocking on the door and trying to make things right, but Blaine probably doesn’t want to talk. So he sits there, staring into space, worrying at his bottom lip and trying to figure out how to fix things.

By the time the shower shuts off, he has a plan. He’ll put the saddest non-romance movie he owns and turns the lights way down and the volume way up to muffle any crying and then hopefully when it ends they’ll both be too emotionally exhausted and they can go to bed and try again tomorrow. Before he can actually put the plan into action, though, Blaine shuffles back into the living room, dressed in the pajamas he had worn the night before.

“Hey!” Kurt says, and winces internally because he sounds painfully peppy. “Everything okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine stands in the doorway, twisting his hands together. “I kind of snapped at you.”

“It’s okay,” Kurt pats the couch. “I don’t mind.”

Blaine sighs. “You can be mad at me, you know? I was an ass. You can be mad.”

“But I’m not,” Kurt says. “So it’s fine.”

He was kind of hoping that that would be the end of it, but Blaine seems determined to push his point. He hops over the arm of the couch and settles opposite Kurt, his eyes painfully earnest. “I’m really sorry, Kurt.”

“It’s fine,” Kurt squeezes his knee. “It really is, Blaine. I’m not mad.”

“But I _want_ you to be mad!” Blaine grabs his hand back and squeezes, kind of painfully, with both of his. “At any other point you would have chewed me out for that! You would have called me a brat and -”

“I would not have called you a brat,” Kurt says, offended, but Blaine waves him off, staring down at his crossed legs. “You wouldn’t let me get away with it.”

“Blaine,” Kurt extracts his hand from Blaine’s grip and leans sideways until their eyes meet. “You’re my best friend. I’m not going to kick you when you’re down just so you can hate yourself more.”

Blaine’s eyes immediately well up with tears, and he says in an unsteady voice. “That’s not why -”

“Yes, it is, and that’s the last I’m going to hear of it,” Kurt says. “If you want to apologise again, do it through a mouthful of food.”

A tiny smile pulls at the corner of Blaine’s mouth. “Fine. If that’s what it takes.”

“That’s what it takes.” Kurt points blindly over his shoulder. “Chow mein’s on the side.”

Blaine smiles properly at that, and actually does go and get a plate of food. Kurt goes to turn the TV back on when he sits back down, but Blaine stops him.

“Tell me everything got sorted out okay?” He asks, “Was Mom okay?”

“It was fine.” Kurt nudges him. “Eat your food.”

“No, tell me, did you manage to sort out something with the caterers?” Blaine’s stupid big doe eyes are fixed on him as he loads his fork up with food.

Kurt sighs and gives in. “We were lucky, they pretty much just threw everything back in the fridge. The canapés were already made, but there were people at the bar by that point so they just kind of set them out and let everyone there go crazy.”

Blaine’s nodding. When Kurt stops, he gestures with his fork for him to continue.

“Okay, uh...” Kurt lets his head fall back against the couch. “Pam personally watched the Taylors write the cheque for the caterers and bar, so they got paid. And Tina took the cake home.”

Blaine’s eyes widen. “The whole cake?”

“She broke it back down into its tiers.” Kurt does smile at the memory of Tina climbing into Jesse and Rachel’s car, holding a stack of boxes almost as tall as herself. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

Blaine grimaces. “Why would I want it?”

“It’s cake, Blaine,” Kurt pokes him gently in the shin. “And even if you don’t want to eat it, you could throw it at a wall or something. Paint the ceiling with it, I don’t know.”

Blaine pokes at his chow mein. “I don’t know. That seems kind of a waste.”

Kurt lifts his eyes to the ceiling and wishes he could have swiped the leaflet about food waste out of Blaine’s hands before he read it a few months ago. “Donate it, then. Or eat it piece by piece.”

Blaine looks more stressed than he had before the conversation began, swirling his fork in the noodles on his plate. “I don’t know…”

“Hey,” Kurt stills his hand, “We sorted everything else out, we’ll sort this too. Don’t stress. I got this.”

Blaine’s eyes go all shiny with tears again. “What would I do without you?”

Kurt shakes his head. “Let’s hope you never have to find out, huh?”

He changes the subject quickly after that, not wanting to let Blaine dwell on things that obviously upset him. Luckily Blaine appears to feel the same way, and they spend the rest of the evening finishing season two of Deadliest Catch, Blaine leaning heavily up against Kurt’s side.

(Kurt pretends not to notice Blaine’s unsteady breathing and the damp patch on his shoulder when an Ikea ad with a gay couple airs.)

“Okay,” Kurt says once the clock hits ten. “I’m calling it. Time for bed.”

Blaine yawns. “Just leave me here. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No, take the bed, I’ll take the air mattress again.” Kurt stands and stretches until his back clicks several times.

“Are you sure?” Blaine looks guilty, “Is your back okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Kurt rolls his shoulders back, “Nothing some yoga won’t fix.”

“I feel bad, though,” Blaine says, his voice pitching up into a whine. “I took your bed last night, now I’m taking it again.”

Kurt eyes him. At any other point he would tell Blaine to suck it up or joke about them trying some new exercise fad together as payment, but he doesn’t want to make him feel guilty or bad. Yet at the same time, he doesn’t want to kick Blaine out onto the shitty air mattress.

So, instead he says, with all the confidence of someone who is definitely not in love with their best friend, “I guess we could share?”

Blaine’s eyes crinkle up in a smile. “Like a throwback to our teen sleepover days?”

“Exactly,” Kurt says airily, gathering up their dishes as an excuse to turn away. “Back when we were the same height, all those years ago.”

“Hey! I was taller than you for a while.”

“Like two weeks.” Kurt leaves the dishes in the sink. He’ll deal with them tomorrow.

“Come on, at least three.” Blaine appears beside him carrying the empty tub of ice cream. “Plus at least an inch of your height was hair.”

Kurt snorts, shaking his head. “You keep telling yourself that, Anderson. You want the bathroom first?”

“No, you go first.” Blaine drops the tub in the trash. “I should probably call my mom.”

“You sure?” Kurt switches off the kitchen light. “I can wait.”

“No, no, go.” Blaine waves his hand. “I insist.”

“Fine.” Kurt stretches. “Say hi to Pam for me, okay?”

Blaine nods, already dialling, and Kurt shuts the bedroom door to give him some privacy. The air mattress is half deflated, sagging in the middle and letting out a pitiful squeak when he steps on it to grab his pajamas. Kurt considers deflating it and putting it away, but the idea of wrestling it back into the tiny cardboard box it lives in is beyond his tired brain. Instead, he kicks it unceremoniously into the corner of his room, next to his laundry basket, and heads into the bathroom to shower.

He’s so tired he nearly falls asleep in the shower, and then again brushing his teeth. By the time he drags himself back into the bedroom and collapses onto the bed he can barely keep his eyes open.

“Blaine?” He calls, reaching blindly for his phone charger, “Bathroom’s free!”

“ _Okay!”_ he hears faintly from the living room area. Kurt rolls onto his side and plugs in his phone, turns on do not disturb and switches off his alarm. He’s planning on getting at least nine hours of glorious, uninterrupted sleep.

He barely registers Blaine coming into the bedroom, can only manage a faint noise of agreement when Blaine says goodnight. He’s asleep within minutes, the noise of the faucet running acting as a lullaby.

When he wakes again, it feels like it’s only been moments since he fell asleep. For half a second, Kurt thinks he’s gone blind, expecting the lamp on his dresser to still be on, but then his eyes register the moonlight coming through the curtains. He lies there, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what on Earth woke him up, when he hears Blaine.

He’s crying, the kind of deep, violent sobs that leave you feeling wrecked by their intensity. As Kurt’s eyes adjust, he sees the figure of his best friend, curled into a ball on the opposite side of the bed.

“Blaine?” He whispers. “Are you okay?”

He hears Blaine’s sharp inhale, followed by a hard sniff. “‘M’fine,” he says, words muffled, “Go back t’ sleep.”

Kurt sits up, shuffling across the bed until he can touch Blaine’s shoulder. “Talk to me.”

Blaine’s hands are over his face, his body shaking. Kurt shakes him, starting to worry. “Blaine? Please look at me. Are you okay?”

Finally, Blaine lowers his hands. Tears shine on his face, and he’s obviously been crying for a long time.

“Oh.” Kurt feels his heart sink. “Blaine, why didn’t you wake me?”

“I’m being stupid.” Blaine covers his face again. “I’m being stupid, it’s just -”

“You’re not stupid.” Kurt rubs his arm gently. “Talk to me, B. Please.”

Blaine’s breath shudders out of him and he confesses in an undertone, “ _I don’t know what I did wrong -_ ”

Kurt can’t keep the confusion out of his voice. “Wrong? Blaine, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Blaine’s hands tremble and he mumbles something, turning his face into the pillow. Heart pounding, Kurt leans. “What?”

“ _Then why doesn’t he love me?_ ”

“Oh, Blaine...” Kurt’s heart sinks to the bottom of his ribcage, cold with sadness. “Blaine, it’s not you. It’s not you.”

Blaine’s whole body shakes with each near-hysterical sob. Unsure what to do, Kurt tries to peel his hands away but Blaine keeps them up, hiding his face.

“It’s okay,” Kurt says, a lump lodging in his throat. He doesn’t know how to fix this. He doesn’t know how to comfort his best friend. He’s painfully out of his depth.

Blaine just keeps crying, curled up into a tiny ball like he’s trying to hide from the world. Eventually, Kurt lays down beside him, still gently rubbing his arm. “It’s okay,” he sing-songs. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

He lies there, staring up at the ceiling, shoulder pressed to Blaine’s back, feeling every harsh breath and pained sob, until slowly the tears stop. Blaine’s breathing slows, becomes more even, and, finally, he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Kurt follows Blaine’s arm down to his hand and covers it with his own. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”

“I woke you up.” Blaine’s voice hitches. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t care.” Kurt squeezes his hand. “Are you okay?”

Blaine rolls over, threading his fingers between Kurt’s. His cheeks are still wet with tears, but he nods, looking exhausted.

“It’s okay,” Kurt says. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

Blaine screws his eyes up, clearly trying not to cry again, and Kurt brings his other hand up and squeezes Blaine’s between both of his.

“Just breathe with me,” he says. “In and out. You’ll be okay.”

They lie like that, holding hands tight, until Blaine falls asleep. The crease between his brows smooths out, his shoulders relax and his tears dry. And Kurt watches him, his heart full with some unnameable emotion. Seeing Blaine like this breaks his heart more than he thought possible. The pain he was feeling watching him walk down the aisle is nothing compared to the guilty burn in his chest now, feeling that something was wrong, but saying nothing out of fear of driving Blaine away. And yet, he can’t shift the sickening thought in the back of his head that he’s _glad_ that Blaine isn’t married, isn’t going to spend the rest of his life with someone who doesn’t respect him.

He just wishes that it hadn’t happened like this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO. SO. SORRY.  
> full explanation at the end of the chapter but let me just say WOW I'M SORRY  
> thank you charli for betaing this chapter and telling me gucci don't make khakis

When Kurt blinks his eyes open the next morning, Blaine’s face is the first thing he sees.

It’s not the first time this has happened - they’ve been sharing beds for as long as they’ve been friends, though less so in the past few years as they both started dating seriously. Kurt still remembers the first time he woke up before Blaine at a sleepover, age sixteen, and got so flustered looking at him that he got up and made a stack of waffles nearly the size of Finn to work off his nervous energy.

It never really gets less easy on his heart, though.

Blaine looks peaceful in sleep, so peaceful that Kurt can’t bring himself to wake him. It’s a rare thing for him to wake up first, Blaine’s been a morning person ever since they met, always waking up early to make breakfast or do yoga or sing with the birds. Kurt prefers to lay in bed until his anxiety about the tasks he has to complete that day catapults him out.

He wishes he could roll over and go back to sleep, but he feels the itch to do something… outlandish. Something that will make Blaine smile.

So Kurt takes a cue from his sixteen year old self and breaks out his waffle iron.

He’s drinking coffee and checking Twitter while the first batch cook when the bedroom door creaks as it opens, and he hears Blaine’s feet shuffle on the floor.

“Morning, sunshine,” Kurt says casually, peering over the top of his mug, “Hungry?”

Blaine yawns. “You’re making breakfast for the second day in a row?”

“Is that so weird?”

“Kurt.” Blaine folds his arms. “I know for a fact you drink coffee for breakfast most mornings.”

Kurt immediately regrets their long standing habit of snapchatting each other their breakfasts. “That’s neither here nor there.”

“I disagree,” Blaine snarks, but he’s smiling. Kurt turns back to his waffle iron. “Help yourself to coffee, okay?”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Blaine mumbles.

Kurt’s trying to think of something to fill the silence as Blaine pours himself a mug of coffee, but all he can think of is observations about the weather (beautiful, sunny, entirely inappropriate) or about stupid stuff Santana retweeted onto his Twitter feed (did he know that crocodiles can hibernate?). So instead he just keeps his mouth shut, focusing on slicing some of the fresh strawberries.

“I can probably head home today,” Blaine says, breaking the silence, “I don’t want to impose.”

Kurt’s jaw clenches, and he puts the knife down and turns to face Blaine, keeping his voice even. “Blaine. You’re not imposing.”

“I know how much you like your space, Kurt, I don’t want to -”

“Blaine, stop.” Kurt holds up a hand. “We’re not arguing about this. You stay as long as you want.”

“Kurt, I really can’t -”

“You can and you will.” Kurt crosses the kitchen to stand opposite him at the table, holding his gaze. “Blaine. Seriously. You’re not imposing, you’re not a burden, you’re not annoying me, and you’re not taking up too much space.”

Blaine sighs. “You’re sure?”

“Certain.” Kurt says as the waffle iron beeps, telling him it’s finished cooking, “And before you argue, you’re getting the first waffle as well.”

“If you insist,” Blaine says, but he’s smiling. Kurt feels a weight lift off his shoulders at the sight of it.

They don’t really talk, not until both of their plates are empty and Kurt is boxing up the leftover waffle mix to put in the fridge. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Blaine says, “Will you come with me to my apartment?”

Slowly, Kurt turns, eyes narrowed. “Is this a way for you to try and get me to agree to leave you there? Because it won’t work.”

“No, I just,” Blaine inhales shakily, “I need to get some stuff. Some clothes, my laptop…”

“I can go grab it. Just give me a list.”

“And I need to talk to Mat.” Blaine’s voice breaks a little on the last word, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kurt leans on the back of his chair, “Maybe you should give it a little time.”

“No offence, Kurt, but I need to get this over and done with,” Blaine says quietly.

Kurt wants to protest, but he knows it’s not his place, so instead he just nods. “When do you want to leave?”

“Maybe in an hour?” Blaine’s picking at the seam of his pajama pants, “Is that okay?”

“No problem.” Kurt leans across the table and squeezes Blaine’s shoulder, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Kurt gives Blaine the bedroom to himself while he clears up breakfast. He’s putting the plates away when his phone vibrates on the counter, and Kurt pauses to check it.

****_To: Kurt_  
From: Cedes  
_how is everything?_

****_To: Cedes_  
From: Kurt  
_ok-ish. tough night, and b wants to go back to his apartment today to pick up some stuff. he wants me to come with him_

****_To: Kurt_  
From: Cedes  
_uhhhh that doesn’t sound very smart. is mat there???_

****_To: Cedes_  
From: Kurt  
_i have no idea._

****_To: Kurt_  
From: Cedes  
_ok well keep me updated. san and i were gonna come over w/ takeout and face masks this evening._

A smile pulls at Kurt’s lips. During college they would all cram into Santana’s tiny studio, get takeout and then do intensive skincare routines on Sunday nights to make up for all the alcohol they drank through the week. That’s exactly the kind of thing Blaine needs - a reminder that his friends are on his side, no matter what.

****_To: Cedes_  
From: Kurt  
_sounds perfect. love u cedes._

****_To: Kurt_  
From: Cedes  
_xx_

“Hey, Kurt?”

“Uh huh?” Kurt turns to see Blaine in the doorway to his room, holding an old pair of his jeans.

“Can I borrow these?” He asks, “And a shirt? I just don’t want to wear the same thing as yesterday.”

“Go crazy,” Kurt says, ignoring the twist in his stomach that comes with the thought of Blaine in his clothes. “Whatever you want.”

“I’ll outfit myself in Versace, then,” Blaine jokes, grinning, and withdraws back into the bedroom.

Kurt presses his hands to his flushed cheeks and mutters “Get a hold of yourself.”

He’s still feeling flustered when Blaine emerges, the cuffs of his jeans rolled up several times. It looks good on him, especially when paired with one of Kurt’s vintage shirts. Blaine looks like a vision from some eighties fever dream, and Kurt has to pinch himself sharply on the inside of his arm to stop himself from staring.

“Thank you for letting me borrow these,” Blaine plucks at the jeans, “I’ll get them back to you clean.”

“Don’t worry about it. How often have we shared clothes before?” Kurt attempts to sound dismissive, but is mostly unsuccessful.

“Not since you outstripped me in height.” Blaine smiles. “I think I may have stolen a shirt or two in high school.”

“I’ll remind you of this next time I’m in need of a bowtie patterned with tiny elephants,” Kurt says, and his voice cracks a little, but Blaine’s laughter is worth it.

Kurt takes the bathroom next, brushes his teeth and changes out of his pajamas. He styles his hair with about 30% less hairspray than usual and picks out a smart, subtly patterned button up. He hopes that the likelihood of them running into Mat at Blaine's apartment is slim, but he doesn't want to look bad - the sense of inadequacy that he always gets while looking at Mat’s 600 dollar polo shirts and Gucci chinos when he's wearing high street jeans and a shirt that he saved three paychecks for leaves a sour taste in his mouth that he doesn't feel like experiencing today.

When he leaves his room Blaine is pouring water from a glass into Kurt's long suffering collection of houseplants named after fashion icons on his windowsill. His hair is rumpled, the label sticking out from the back of his - no, _Kurt’s_ shirt, and he turns to Kurt and gives him a half-smile.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you need to keep track of when you water Alexander?” He jokingly scolds, “The poor thing is parched.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Alexander is fine. You worry too much.”

“Don't worry, sweetie,” Blaine murmurs to his Calathea, which is actually looking a little dehydrated, “I’ll be on his back from now on to keep you healthy.”

“Plants can't hear you.” Kurt brushes past him, trying to ignore his imagination running wild with images of Blaine in his clothes, totally comfortable in Kurt’s apartment.

“Actually, there was a study that showed that -”

“Could you not be a nerd for three seconds?”

Blaine bursts out laughing, and Kurt smiles back like the fool he is.

The air between them becomes more tense as they prepare to leave for Blaine's Manhattan apartment. Blaine's lips become tight, his jaw clenched, his eyes anxious. Kurt does his best to make conversation, but it's clear Blaine’s mind is elsewhere as they leave the building and head for the subway.

Few words are shared on the ride to Blaine’s place. Kurt picks at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt until it starts to unravel, and then he wraps the thread around his finger until it leaves a groove between his first and second knuckle.

“Are you okay?”

Blaine’s voice jolts him out of his thoughts, and he realises the tip of his finger has started to go purple. Hastily, he unwinds the thread and tucks his hand under his leg.

“Fine,” he says, giving Blaine what he hopes is a convincing smile, “You?”

Blaine nods, with a less convincing smile. Kurt notices that a dime-sized tear in the thigh of his jeans has been worked open to the size of quarter.

“We don’t have to go,” Kurt says, “We can turn around and go home right now.”

Blaine shakes his head. “I need to see him,” he says softly, swaying with the train as it bumps along the tracks. “I have to.”

“Okay,” Kurt says, “But if at any point you want to leave -”

“I’m not a child, Kurt.” Blaine’s eyes narrow. “Please stop treating me like one.”

Kurt presses his lips together and nods, sitting back in the seat. They don’t speak another word until their stop.

**

Blaine’s heart is pounding out of his chest.

He climbs the steps to their apartment building, uses his keycard to open the door. The doorman is absent, luckily, because Blaine thinks he’ll break down if he has to explain why he’s showing up to the apartment without his fiancé in tow.

The elevator music grates on his ears. His face feels hot, his throat raw, like he’s been crying for hours already. The waffles he’d eaten for breakfast sit like lead in his stomach, heavy and sickening, and he wishes - he wishes -

He wishes he could just disappear.

But the doors open on his floor, and he steps out on autopilot. Walks to their door, slides the key in the lock like he has a thousand times before. Turns it, pushes it open.

The first thing he sees is the clay bowl he made for their keys. The stupid bowl he spent hours working on during a class Tina dragged him along to, the one Mat had said was far too deep to hold keys but relented when Blaine pouted and batted his eyes. Blaine is filled with the powerful urge to smash it.

He actually reaches out, hand trembling, before he stops himself. Opens the door all the way, nearly tosses his keys into the bowl like he has done a million times before. Instead he puts them back in his pocket and forces himself to take one step.

But before he can take another, Mat comes into view.

Blaine’s heart leaps like it has done a billion times before, seeing the man he loves. But just as quickly it falls, the butterflies in his stomach that he used to cherish feeling turning to heavy regret. He opens his mouth but his throat closes up, leaving him unable to talk.

“What are you doing here?”

The first words out of the mouth of the man Blaine only a day ago had thought he would marry feel like ice water down his spine.

“Last time I checked my name was on this lease too,” he says, but the words feel hollow. There’s no real anger behind it.

He feels Kurt come to stand next to him, and that gives him enough strength to take a deep breath and say the four words he’s been rehearsing the whole ride over.

“We need to talk.”

Mat’s eyes shift between Blaine and Kurt several times. He looks stunningly uncomfortable, and it gives Blaine a sick sense of satisfaction.

“Does your bodyguard have to be present?” Mat finally asks, gesturing at Kurt. Blaine almost hears Kurt’s teeth grit, and he puts a gentle hand on his elbow.

“Kurt?” Blaine says softly, “Do you mind? For a moment?”

Kurt’s jaw is tight with barely contained anger, but he turns, mutters to Blaine, “I’ll wait outside.”

Blaine nods, but when the door shuts behind Kurt the room feels significantly colder.

“Did you really have to bring him?” Mat asks. When Blaine doesn’t reply, he continues, planting his hands on his hips. “You know the guy hates me -”

“You have _no_ right to ask me for something right now.” Blaine’s voice is low and rough with fury. “No right. We are in this situation because of you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not?” Blaine actually laugh, “It’s not fair? I didn’t cheat, Mat! You did! For _years!_ Did you ever even want to get married? Or was I always just the man on the side?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Mat says in a gentle voice, like he’s trying to calm down a frightened animal. “Of course I wanted to marry you.”

Blaine refuses to be placated.

“Then what was it like?” he demands. “Explain it to me, because right now I just don’t see it.”

“I didn’t plan for things to happen like this, I promise.” Mat starts forward, this stupid faux-sad expression on his face. Blaine doesn’t buy it.

“How did you plan for it to happen?” Blaine folds his arms, “Were you hoping I’d just stay oblivious? That you’d get to have me and him on the side?”

“No, sweets -”

“Do _not_ call me that,” Blaine snaps, jabbing a finger furiously at Mat’s chest. “Don’t you ever call me that again -”

“ - Blaine, it was never supposed to - I tried to break things off, you have to believe me.” Mat tries to take Blaine’s hand, but he snatches it back. It’s so reminiscent of how Blaine had begged for his relationship the day before that he wants to be sick.

“I’m sorry it turned out like this.” Mat actually has the guts to smile. “But it’s for the best.”

Blaine lets out a near hysterical laugh. “You’re sorry? You’re fucking _sorry?_ You spent two years lying to me. I _loved_ you! I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together and the whole time you were fucking _him?_ ”

“Blaine -”

“How _dare you_ say this is for the best.” Blaine’s starting to choke up, but he persists. “For the best would have been if you had _told me_. If you hadn’t lied.”

“I just -”

“Actually, you know what would have been for the best?” Blaine spits, “If I had never met you. That’s what would have been for the best.”

“Don’t say that -”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Blaine snarls, “We’re done. I want you to pack your clothes and leave.”

Mat looks stunned. “This is - this is our place.”

“It _was_ our place.” Blaine wipes the tears from his face roughly, “But it’s not any more.”

“What, you’re just gonna kick me out? I pay rent here too! And it’s not like you can afford it without my help!”

The jab at Blaine’s substantially smaller budget stings. That’s always been how their arguments go - it’s never long before it comes back to money.

“Make no mistake.” Every word out of Blaine’s mouth is deliberate, steady, even though he feels anything but. “I don’t plan on spending a second longer than I have to here. Once the lease is up, you can do what you want with all your _money_. But until then, how about you use some of it to rent a room where you and Benji can do whatever you like. This place is mine.”

Their entire relationship, Blaine’s been happy to compromise for Mat. That’s what relationships _are_. But now he’s done.

“Blaine -”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Blaine snaps, turning his back and wiping his face dry, “I need an hour to pack a bag. Then I want you out by tomorrow.”

“And where exactly am I supposed to go?”

Blaine laughs through his tears. “I don’t know, and honestly? I don’t care.”

“Jesus, Blaine, can we at least sit down and talk about this?”

“No,” Blaine shakes his head, “No, we can’t. I’m done, Mat, you need to go, okay? I need to pack a bag. Please.”

Here he is, begging. Again. Blaine hates himself.

Mat doesn’t speak another word. Blaine hears him gather his keys, shoes, jacket. Once the door shuts behind him, Blaine puts a stabilising hand on the wall and takes several deep, gasping breaths.

_It’s over_ , he thinks, that icy feeling in his stomach starting to consume him, _it’s really over._ We’re really done.

He’s alone.

And then the door starts to open again, and Blaine hastily stands up straight and spits, “Did I not _just_ ask you to -”

“Blaine, whoa, it’s me,” Kurt touches his shoulder, “It’s just me. Just Kurt.”

Blaine sags in relief, and Kurt puts an arm around him. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Blaine says automatically, and then shakes his head. “No. I don’t know.”

“You want beer?”

Blaine snorts. “The expensive stuff that we - that _I_ have here? No thanks. It tastes -”

“Like ass, I know,” Kurt interrupts, “But c’mon. Let’s drink and pack.”

Blaine follows Kurt like a lost lamb through into their kitchen. The whole place makes him feel sick, every inch of the apartment a reminder of how stupid he had been. How oblivious. He looks at the black marble surfaces and thinks about all the meals they had cooked together, how desperately in love Blaine had been.

_Right? I was, right? I loved him, didn’t I?_

_Didn’t I?_

And then Kurt smacks a bottle of the fancy homebrew craft beer that Mat buys for a ridiculous amount down at the farmers market on the table and says loudly, “ _Drink!_ ”

“Have you ever tasted this?” Blaine takes the bottle gingerly. He’s tried it before. It does taste like ass, except with none of the fun connotations.

“Nope,” Kurt pops the cap off his beer and takes a long drink. Blaine sees the exact moment that the taste registers on his face.

Kurt lowers the beer back to the counter with a sour expression.

“I told you.” Blaine feels a smile pull at his lips. “Did I not tell you?”

“You tell me a lot of stuff, how often do I listen?” Kurt’s clearly trying hard to put on a brave front, and Blaine could kiss him for it. “Come on. You need clothes.”

Blaine wants to stay right where they are. In the kitchen, drinking nasty beer, pretending nothing is wrong instead of standing in his bedroom, packing up the shreds of his life that he still has left.

But Kurt is already wandering through the living room and into their bedroom, and Blaine doesn’t want to be alone, so he follows.

Walking into their room hits him like a punch in the gut. He’s suddenly winded, gulping down air as he looks at their bed. The bed that only three nights ago he had slept in, slept _with_ Mat in, blissfully oblivious to what - to _who_ \- his fiancé was lying with when Blaine wasn’t there. He looks at his nightstand, where his half-read copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ sits. With a surge of nausea, Blaine remembers reading it aloud.

“ _There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well_ ,” he had read, and Mat had laughed and said, “ _Please tell me I’m one of them?_ ”

“ _I can’t comment_ ,” Blaine had replied, and then Mat had rolled his eyes and tossed a pair of socks at him and gone to shower.

“Blaine?”

Kurt’s voice jolts him out of his thoughts, and Blaine realises that his eyes are blurry with unshed tears. Quickly he dabs them dry, blinks several times and musters a smile.

Kurt reaches out and takes his hand.

“It’s okay to cry,” he says.

Blaine’s vision blurs almost immediately with more tears. “I know,” he says thickly, “I know. I’m just sick of it.”

Silently, Kurt squeezes his hand gently. Blaine squeezes back, grits his teeth together until the burning in his eyes subsides.

“Okay,” he says, “Let’s do it.”

They fit a surprising amount into one small suitcase, a duffle bag and Blaine’s satchel. Enough clothes for a week, most of his toiletries, his laptop and a few keepsakes that Blaine suddenly worries will disappear if he leaves them there. He takes his grandfather’s pocket watch from its drawer in his desk and slides it into the front of his jeans, the case reassuringly cool in his palm. In the nightstand is his well worn copy of _The Hobbit_ , the one he rereads whenever he can’t sleep, or anxiety is eating away at him. Only the worst problems manage to keep him awake past the fifth chapter.

Blaine has a feeling he’ll be needing it in the coming days.

“Oh my god, Blaine, you still have this?”

Blaine turns to see Kurt holding a familiar golden stuffed dog and a smile comes to his face. “Maggie? Of course I have Maggie!”

“I won her at the fair on senior ditch day, didn’t I?” Kurt shakes her lightly. “What’d I name her?”

“Margaret Thatcher dog,” Blaine grins, “Back when you were -”

“Obsessed with all things British? Yes, I vaguely recall.” Kurt rolls his eyes. “God, I thought you would have thrown her out years ago.”

“What? No way, Kurt, I still remember you driving all the way out to Dalton to give her to me.” Blaine crosses the room and takes Maggie from Kurt, tucking her into his suitcase. “You brought me Maggie and a huge tub of cotton candy, and we ate it in your car listening to Katy Perry’s new album.”

“Because Cooper was back and making your life hell,” Kurt laughs, “And I misattributed a quote from Winston Churchill and you choked and spat a glob of pink sugar on my dashboard.”

Blaine starts to laugh, but a sob comes out instead. He had felt so isolated at Dalton that week, so lonely with everyone going crazy for Cooper’s stupid acting classes, and then Kurt had driven two hours just to see him and he had nearly cried right there in the parking lot, wearing his pajamas, because he didn’t know what he had done to deserve Kurt as a friend.

“Whoa, hey, I didn’t mean it in a bad way -” Kurt starts to backpedal, but Blaine shakes his head and smiles. “No, it’s not - I’m just so glad I have you.”

And he is. God, he’s so glad, so incredibly glad that he has Kurt by his side for this. He can’t even bring himself to think of how he would cope without Kurt’s fierce loyalty, his comfort, his smile - Blaine would be lost. Kurt is like a beacon in the darkness, an anchor that Blaine can always return to, no matter what.

Kurt stares at him for a moment, some unreadable emotion in his eyes, and then he smiles back and says, “Me too.”

“Okay,” Blaine sniffs and wipes his eyes for what feels like the billionth time that day, “I want to get out of here.”

He mindlessly stuffs a few more things from his nightstand into his satchel and slings it over his shoulder, turning away from the bed and all the memories that cling to it. Kurt lifts his duffle bag with ease and nods at the doorway. “After you.”

They leave the half drunk bottles of beer gathering condensation on the counter and lock the door behind them.

“Let’s get a taxi back,” Kurt says as they enter the elevator, “I don’t feel like lugging this through the subway.”

Blaine just nods. He feels physically and mentally exhausted. Even though they must have spent a maximum of forty-five minutes in the apartment, he feels like it’s been hours. All he wants to do is go back to Kurt’s and crawl into bed for a week.

“You want to pick up something to eat on the way?” Kurt asks, “We could get Thai. Or Mexican. Ooh, maybe sushi, do you want sushi?”

“I’m not hungry,” Blaine says, “But thanks.”

“Okay,” Kurt taps his foot as the door opens, “You mind if I eat when we get back?”

Blaine checks his watch as they walk through the lobby. It’s just past 1 in the afternoon. He shrugs. “It’s your place, Kurt.”

The ride back, just like the ride there, is silent. Kurt stares out of the window, tapping his fingers on his leg. Blaine runs his thumbnail up and down a seam in his suitcase until the friction burns, his mind going a mile a minute. It’s like he’s watching his life on fast-forward, skimming through, searching for any hint that his relationship was not what it seemed. He thinks about all the nights he had spent content in Mat’s arms, secure in the knowledge that he was safe. The foundation that he had built his love for Mat on crumbles, leaving him teetering on the edge of a cliff with a sea of the unknown beneath him.

“Blaine?”

He jumps as Kurt touches his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. The expression on his best friend’s face is concerned, and Blaine musters a smile to try and reassure him.

“We’re here,” Kurt says softly, “Let’s go home.”

**

The minute the door is shut behind them, Blaine mutters something and disappears into the bathroom. Kurt hears the door lock securely behind him and feels that pit in his stomach grow.

He has no idea what to do. He’s helped Blaine through breakups before, but nothing like this. This magnitude of heartbreak makes his attempts at comfort feel like a band aid on a bullet hole, and the feeling of helplessness leaves him anxious and frustrated. At himself, at Mat, at Benji - at everyone and anyone he can blame.

No longer hungry, Kurt hauls Blaine’s bags through into his bedroom and lays them on the floor there. The air mattress is still sitting next to his laundry basket, almost completely deflated now. Kurt can’t really put off storing it away any longer, so he reluctantly gets the box out of his closet and starts the laborious process of folding it up.

He has it halfway into the box when his phone lights up with a message from his dad.

****_To: Kurt_  
From: Dad  
_Are we still ok 2 drop by be4 our flight 2day?_

Kurt gladly drops everything to reply, sitting on the edge of his bed to catch his breath. The original plan post-wedding had been for the Hummel-Hudsons to spend the day together in the city before Burt and Carole’s 6pm flight back home. Now, he expects they’ll probably just want to waste a few hours at his apartment before taking a cab to the airport.

****_To: Kurt_  
From: Dad  
_And pam is coming 2 see blaine_

_Uh oh_ , Kurt thinks as he replies. He’s sure that there’s a million and one things they have to discuss before Pam can go home, but he kind of just wants his apartment to stay within its bubble of tranquility, where the outside world can’t touch them.

Leaving the air mattress half packed away, Kurt starts towards the bathroom to let Blaine know his family will be dropping in. Before he can lift his hand to knock, the door opens and Blaine emerges, his eyes red-rimmed and his face pink as if he’s been scrubbing it vigorously.

“Kurt?” he steps back into the bathroom in shock, shoulders drawing up to his ears, “How long were you out there?”

“I’m not being creepy,” Kurt squeaks, “Pam wants to drop by with Dad and Carole and I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

Blaine’s posture relaxes, and he folds his arms. “Yeah, Mom texted me. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Kurt tilts his head, “You okay?”

“Just tired,” Blaine mumbles, “I’ll be fine.”

He’s spectacularly unconvincing. Kurt’s known Blaine for ten years, and rarely has he seen his best friend look so very fragile.

“How about coffee?” Kurt offers, hopeful that will put a smile on Blaine’s face, “I’ll see if I have anything to eat.”

“Sure,” Blaine shrugs, “I don’t mind.”

Kurt digs out a pack of Blaine’s favourite white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies from his snack shelf, arranges them on a plate and places them in front of Blaine alongside his largest mug of coffee.

“Wow,” Blaine says, “Are you trying to hint that I slept too long last night?”

“Not in the slightest,” Kurt sits opposite him with his own slightly smaller cup of coffee, “Just thought you might need an extra kick.”

“And you have my favourite cookies?” Blaine narrows his eyes, “Did you go grocery shopping today?”

“First of all, these are leftover from our movie night last month,” Kurt retorts, “Second of all, when exactly would I have time to go and grab groceries? While you were playing sleeping beauty?”

Blaine snorts into his coffee, and Kurt pushes the plate closer to him, rolling his eyes. “Eat a damn cookie, Blaine.”

**

They’ve barely had enough time to finish their coffee before the buzzer sounds, jolting Blaine out of his thoughts.

“Is that them?” he asks, startled, “Mom only texted thirty minutes ago.”

“Must be,” Kurt sighs, “I’ll go walk them up, okay? Just give me a minute.”

“Sure.” Blaine nods, nerves starting to gnaw at his gut. The thought of facing his parents shouldn’t leave him feeling panicky and hemmed in, but it does, and that just makes him feel worse. Ungrateful for their support, like he doesn’t deserve it if he’s going to treat it like a burden.

Blaine aches for something to twist around his finger. He used to play with his engagement ring all the time, spinning it in circles whenever he got nervous. He had taken it off the day before the wedding, giddy with excitement, and now the skin where it had sat feels empty. The tan line left by the thin band leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

Blaine reaches for his watch instead, tightening the band so it sits properly on his wrist. The seconds crawl by as he waits, listening for their voices so he knows when to put a smile on his face.

The click of the front door sounds faintly and Blaine stands, his stomach tying itself in knots. His feet stay rooted to the spot as he hears Kurt talking, his voice joined by others as their combined families fill the apartment.

The first person into the room is Carole. She walks straight at Blaine and engulfs him in a tight hug without saying a word, and Blaine feels like he might start crying immediately.

“Oh, sweetie,” she says softly, pulling back and framing his face with her hands, “How are you? Hanging on?”

“Just about,” Blaine mumbles. She clicks her tongue in that motherly way. “You look tired. Is Kurt taking care of you?”

Blaine smiles at that. “Of course he is.”

“Good,” Carole pats his cheek gently, “I’m so sorry this happened.”

“Me too,” Blaine whispers, and she gives him another hug.

Burt is next, nearly lifting him off his feet with the force of his embrace. He pats him on the back several times, so hard it reverberates through his ribcage, then releases him with a somber expression. Blaine manages a smile, even though he doesn’t feel like it.

Cooper fills the room with his voice immediately afterwards, but Blaine can see the stress in his face. Nobody in the room looks particularly happy, though like him, they all seem to be putting on a brave face.

His parents look especially exhausted. His dad even hugs him, which is a rare occurrence, and then they all just sort of stand there in Kurt’s kitchen, looking at each other awkwardly.

Kurt claps his hands and says cheerily, “Coffee anyone?”

“ _Please_ ,” Cooper says desperately, and that makes Blaine laugh, and once the silence is broken everyone seems to relax. Cooper collapses into one of Kurt’s chairs at the breakfast bar, Burt and Carole move over onto the back of the couch, and Pam squeezes Blaine’s arm and goes to take a seat at the dining table.

“What time is your flight?” Blaine asks, fiddling with his watch strap again, “You probably want to leave at least a few hours before, the traffic can get really bad this time of day.”

“You tryna get rid of us already, squirt?” Cooper teases, and Blaine pulls the strap of his watch tight so he doesn’t say something he regrets. Luckily, Kurt’s hand flashes out and smacks Cooper on the shoulder. “Blaine’s right,” he says as the coffee machine gurgles unhappily, “Rush hour traffic is a bitch, and you don’t want to miss your plane.”

“It’s not until six,” Pam says, waving him off, “And anyway, if you want me to stay I’ll just get a different one.”

“Mom,” Blaine says sharply, suddenly embarrassed. He’s twenty five years old, yet here he is being treated like a six year old with the stomach flu. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, I know that, but I still -”

“Pam,” his dad says quietly, “He’ll be fine.”

“I _know_ that, but -”

Kurt - wonderful, empathetic Kurt - clears his throat. “Dad, Carole, I meant to show you the dress I’ve been working on for the musical. It’s just in the bedroom.”

Burt and Carole make all the right noises of interest, though the way they carefully don’t look in Blaine’s direction makes him cringe internally. Kurt shuts the door behind them, leaving the Andersons alone.

“I’m fine,” Blaine says firmly, before anyone else tries to talk. “I will be fine. I’ll stay with Kurt again tonight and go home tomorrow.”

“I think you should come home with us,” his mom says, “Just take a few weeks to get back on your feet. You don’t have to go back to your apartment.”

“I really don’t need to go back to Ohio.” Blaine pinches the bridge of his nose. The thought of going back to small town Westerville, where the neighbours turned their nose up at the invitations to his and Mat’s engagement party, makes him want to be sick.

“I think that’s the best idea right now,” his mom persists, almost pleading, “Being in that apartment with him will just make you feel worse.”

“I won’t _be_ with him,” Blaine presses his fingers to his temples, massaging lightly and trying to keep his tone under control, “I’ve already spoken to him, I told him he needs to find someone - _somewhere_ \- else.”

“You what?” Cooper interrupts, “You went to see him?”

“I dropped by this morning to pick up some clothes,” Blaine sighs, “He was there. We had a brief conversation.”

“Well,” his father says, “That deals with that.”

Blaine carefully doesn’t mention the fifteen minute crying fit he had in Kurt’s bathroom after they got back.

“Are you certain you don’t want to come home?” his mom asks, “Maybe not for a few weeks, but a few days?”

“No,” Blaine shakes his head, “I’ll be okay here. I have Kurt.”

His mom nods, though she’s clearly unconvinced. “Just - just call me, okay? Let me know how you’re doing.”

A lump grows in Blaine’s throat. His mom has been with him at his very worst, when he’s been too drained to get out of bed or eat. It’s a side of him that he hates to let people see, a side that he fights to keep under control, and he knows that both of them are now thinking of the worst. That he’ll fall into that state again, but this time he’ll be alone in New York.

“I will,” he smiles, blinking away the tears that are welling up, “I have people, Mama.”

“I know you have people,” she grabs his hand with both of hers, “I know you have people, good people. But you’re still my little boy, and I’m still going to worry.”

“Both of us are going to worry,” his father adds gruffly. Blaine nods, sniffing. “I’ll call. I’ll keep busy. I’ll be okay.”

His mom looks like she’s about to cry as she stands and puts her arms around him. Swiftly Cooper joins in, and then Blaine feels his father’s hand come to rest on his back, and he hides his face in his mom’s sweater and lets himself shed just a few tears.

“Okay,” his mom sniffs too, “I’m going to help myself to some coffee, and then we’ll release the Hummels.”

Blaine snorts, dabbing at his eyes with the neck of Kurt’s shirt. Cooper gets up and starts looking through Kurt’s cupboards for cups, his father collapses back into a chair, and finally Kurt’s bedroom door opens and Carole pokes her head out.

Blaine gives her a thumbs up, and the Hummels re-enter, looking relieved. Blaine thinks it’s probably because no one is crying.

Luckily, Cooper takes the task of keeping conversation going by describing in excruciating detail an interaction he had with Tom Cruise in a coffee shop while he was on his way to a callback. Carole is appropriately wowed, but Kurt keeps interjecting sarcastic remarks about Scientology interspersed with filling and refilling coffee cups. Blaine sits quietly, sandwiched between his parents, swirling the dregs of his coffee and trying too hard not to think.

Kurt plays the part of the perfect host, catching Blaine’s family up since they last saw him. He even brings out a book of his sketches for the musical he’s designing costumes for, even though he told Blaine they were top secret and couldn’t leave his apartment. Once the sketchbook is passed around the table and ends up in front of Blaine he pages through it slowly, staring at each sketch until he’s sure he’s taken in every detail. There are notes around the edge, most of them scrawled in the way that Kurt writes when he’s thinking quickly. Blaine remembers trying to decode Kurt’s suggestions on the essay he’d written on a college application senior year.

“What do you think?” Kurt’s fingers tap on the table in front of him, “Any good?”

Blaine shuts the book gently, keeping one finger in to mark his place. “Of course they’re good,” he says, “They’re always good.”

Kurt preens a little, enjoying the praise. “You always know how to stroke my ego.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Blaine grins, hands the book back carefully. Kurt passes it on to his dad and Carole and bravely draws Blaine’s father into conversation about his work, and Blaine takes the opportunity to get up from the table and escape into Kurt’s room.

He shuts the door and leans against it for a moment. He loves everybody in the room next door with his whole heart, but right now he just needs a moment alone.

Blaine sits on the bed and takes a deep breath, enjoying the silence. The air mattress Kurt slept on two nights ago sits half stored away on the floor, like Kurt was interrupted as he tried to cram it back into the box. Blaine wonders if this is a hint that he should head back to his apartment tonight, or if he’s just looking too deep into things.

He’s still contemplating the various implications he can gather from this deflated air mattress when the door opens and Cooper slips in, shutting the door quietly behind him in a shocking show of self awareness.

“Hey,” he crosses the room and sits next to Blaine, “You okay?”

Blaine sighs. “I’m sick to death of hearing people ask me that.”

Cooper snorts. “Doesn’t make me wonder less, though.”

Blaine rubs his face. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You know you can come and stay with me any time.” Coop puts an arm around him, “Maybe in a couple weeks?”

“You have someone staying now?” Blaine pokes at him, but Cooper doesn’t rise, remaining serious. “No, I just don’t think you should be alone during… you know.”

“During what, Cooper?”

“During the honeymoon,” Cooper mumbles, and Blaine freezes.

_The honeymoon._ He had completely forgotten their two week stay in Southern France. Dread sits like stone in Blaine’s gut as he realises that there’s no way they can get their deposit back now, only ten days before they’re supposed to fly out. Mat had pushed back the date they left so he could finish some plans for work, but nowhere near enough to cancel.

“Oh god,” Blaine puts his head in his hands, “Oh my god. I forgot.”

“Shit.” Cooper puts a hand on his shoulder. “Shit, B. I’m sorry.”

Blaine’s trying to remember how much the honeymoon cost. It was a lot, he knew it was a lot, but he only saw the full bill once, and that was when he and Mat were looking over everything with Lorraine, and Blaine had just been focused on the ridiculous amount of money they were spending on _lighting_ of all things, and then -

Blaine does remember seeing the check his dad slipped them during dinner a month ago. With Blaine and Mat on one side of the table and Michael on the other, it felt a little bit like standoff, neither side quite comfortable with the situation, ready at any point for it all to devolve. But his father had treated them the way he normally did - at arms length, awkwardly, and at the end, presenting them with an outlandish amount of money to make up for the fact that he had been almost completely absent throughout the entire wedding planning process.

On the walk back to their apartment, Mat had put his arm around Blaine’s waist and said, “We’ll put it towards the honeymoon. Make it something really special.”

Blaine, who was a little bit tipsy, decided that he wanted to make a run at their honeymoon night very soon and that was pretty much the last they spoke of it. The check went towards the honeymoon, like they said, and life went on.

“Hey,” Cooper says gently, “Bud? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Blaine says automatically, “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”

“It’s just a suggestion -”

“Thanks, Coop.” Blaine cuts him off abruptly. “I’ll think about it.”

Cooper takes the dismissal for what it is, and with a gentle squeeze to Blaine’s shoulder, leaves him alone.

“God _dammit_ ,” Blaine hisses, rubbing his eyes until white sparks flash across his vision. He’s so angry, so _furious_ that Mat put them both in this situation, that his dishonesty has ended up throwing more money than Blaine’s _ever_ spent before down the drain. He can feel a tension headache building behind his eyes as he tries to figure out some way to mitigate the damage this will do to his meagre savings. He’s probably going to have to take out a loan to repay his parents for the money they contributed to the honeymoon.

Blaine wants to scream. He wants to curse and yell and hit things until all his anger is burned out and he can think calmly, but he’s at Kurt’s apartment - not his building with the gym in the basement. So instead he grits his teeth until his jaw aches, takes several deep breaths and walks back into the kitchen.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” His mom asks. Blaine nods, but the way she purses her lips tells him she’s not convinced. He doesn’t take a seat at the table, instead opting to lean against the counter and listen quietly, wanting to remain on the fringes of the conversation as he tries to figure out how he’s going to tell his parents that all the money they gave him for the honeymoon is wasted.

When he checks his watch it’s half past two. If his parents and the Hummels want to make it in time for their 6PM flight they’ll need to leave around three, but Blaine suddenly realises he doesn’t want his parents to go. He wants them to stay, continue being reassuring and slightly smothering, like a buffer against the outside world, and pretend that his life is continuing as normal instead of breaking down in pieces.

But that’s childish. Blaine’s twenty five years old. He’s outgrown the age where crawling back home to your parents in tears is acceptable.

He’s trying to think of a tactful way to raise the issue when Cooper looks at his phone and says, “Oh, fuck my life, we need to leave soon.”

“Language,” their father says reproachfully, which Cooper completely ignores. “Last chance to join us on a trip to the backwoods, B.”

Blaine laughs despite himself, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stay in the bright lights, thanks.”

“Your loss,” Cooper reaches across the table to start collecting up the cups, “I know Ohio misses you.”

Blaine really doubts that’s true.

Burt and Carole are the first to start getting ready, leaving the room to find their shoes. Kurt doesn’t go with them, but Blaine’s going to end up crying on his shoulder about it anyway, so he doesn’t let it stop him.

“Mom? Dad?” he says softly, “You know the money you gave me for the honeymoon?”

His dad turns first. “The what?”

“The honeymoon.” Blaine repeats, the words sour on his tongue. “You loaned me some money.”

“That?” his father waves him off, “Forget about it.”

“No, Dad.” Blaine has to take a deep breath to stabilise himself, “I’m not - we’re not going to get the money back, I can’t - it’ll take me time to repay you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh sweetie,” his mom rounds the end of the table and pulls him into her arms again, “Blaine, don’t worry about that. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“I need to cancel everything,” Blaine says, “Maybe they might give me some back but -”

“Blaine, I’m telling you, don’t worry about it.” She strokes his cheek gently. “Maybe you should go? It might be a good idea to take a break. Get out of the city for a little while.”

“By myself?” Blaine shakes his head. “I don’t know -”

“Don’t make a decision just now, think about it.”

“Okay,” Blaine nods, “Okay, fine. I will. Think about it.”

“Good,” she rises up on her toes and kisses him on the forehead, “And call me any time if you want to talk.”

“Okay, mama,” he mumbles.

“I love you, okay?”

“Love you too.”

**

When Kurt returns from seeing their families away in a minicab, Blaine’s sat on his couch typing on his phone - but the look on his face is a stark contrast to how he’s looked for the past day. He seems relaxed, almost excited. As Kurt crosses the room and takes a seat next to him, Blaine looks up with a smile on his face. “It’s Mercedes. She wants to know when she can come over for a gays night.”

“Sounds good,” Kurt says, glad something has cheered him up. “Tell her any time.”

“Sure,” Blaine continues tapping away, “I can’t remember the last time we had a night in like that.”

Kurt carefully doesn’t say that the last time was before Blaine’s engagement. Instead he shrugs, spinning the ring on his thumb for his hands to have something to do. “It’s been a while for sure.”

“I miss hanging out with you guys,” Blaine says, putting his phone down, “I feel like I barely see you anymore.”

“Well, you know where I live,” Kurt teases gently, “You can always drop by.”

“And interrupt the illustrious Kurt Hummel in his den?” Blaine puts a hand to his chest. “I daren’t. What if I catch sight of something forbidden?”

“What, me before coffee?” Kurt rolls his eyes, “Come on. You brought me chicken soup last year when I had the stomach flu, if you can deal with me in that state you can deal with anything.”

“I was more thinking of a romantic tryst, but you before coffee works as well.”

Kurt snorts. “Between working for Vogue and designing? I barely have time to eat, let alone seek out an eligible bachelor for _trysts_.”

“And yet you’re taking all this time to look after lil’ ol’ me.” Blaine’s face sobers suddenly. “You’re not going to get into trouble for that, right?”

“Isabelle gave me the last half of the week off for the wedding,” Kurt reaches out and ruffles his hair, “I don’t go back to Vogue until Monday. You got me for the whole weekend, Blaine.”

“Lucky me,” Blaine says, twisting at the sleeve of his shirt. The material, already distressed, looks like it’s aged another couple years in the time Blaine’s been wearing it. Kurt doesn’t say anything - it was a steal from a thrift shop during his senior year of college, and honestly Blaine wears it better than him.

“Depends on whether you consider having to deal with me for the next two days lucky or not,” Kurt teases. Blaine doesn’t reply, instead leans over until his head rests on Kurt’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Kurt squeezes Blaine’s knee. “You -”

“Okay?” Blaine finishes.

“Am I getting predictable?”

“Just a little,” Blaine sighs, “I’m tired. Tired of being sad. Tired of feeling like a burden.”

“You’re not -”

“I know.” Blaine places his hand over Kurt’s. “I know.”

**

Mercedes arrives no more than forty minutes later, with a wealth of skincare products. Santana and Tina show up shortly after, Tina holding a bag of assorted snacks and Santana with a bottle of rum and assorted mixers. Blaine hugs them as they arrive, welcomes the noise they bring with them. Kurt’s apartment has become far too quiet once their families left, and it left Blaine feeling like he was on the brink of a meltdown at any moment. Once they’ve all taken turns washing their faces in Kurt’s tiny bathroom, Blaine pushes his hair off his forehead with a frog headband and squeezes onto the couch between Santana and Mercedes with a bag of Cheetos in hand.

“Put Bear Grylls on,” Kurt says, mid application of a clay mask to Tina’s face, “I want to watch something stupid.”

“I think Blaine gets to pick what we watch seeing as we’re here mourning his relationship,” Santana says. Kurt gasps and reaches out to smack her on the leg, only narrowly missing. “Santana! That’s not funny!”

“I wasn’t joking!” Santana retorts, “My vote is for Alien, as always.”

“Sigourney Weaver isn’t going to crawl out of the screen and top you, San,” Mercedes teases, and Santana sighs. “A girl can dream. Blaine, seriously, what do you want to watch?”

“Alien sounds fun,” Blaine says through a mouthful of Cheetos. As far as he can remember, there’s no romance in the first Alien movie, and watching a spaceship of people battle an evil extraterrestrial being puts his problems in perspective.

“Miss Weaver it is, then,” Mercedes says, pointing the remote at the TV, “An eternal classic.”

“Head back,” Santana says beside him, and Blaine obliges, closing his eyes. A few moments later he feels the cool, slimy touch of a sheet mask against his skin.

“It’s peach yogurt,” she says, “Supposed to be good for dry skin.”

“Is that your way of telling me I look dehydrated?” Blaine asks, sneaking another Cheeto into his mouth. She just tugs on a strand of hair gently and says “Twenty minutes, then we’re doing eye masks.”

Mercedes and Santana provide a running commentary on Alien, Mercedes with facts about the movie production and Santana with remarks on how hot Sigourney Weaver is. Blaine’s happy to listen to either, honestly, and between that and Kurt repetitively asking what’s going on every time he gets distracted by his phone his spirit is almost light.

“If we were all stuck on a spaceship with an alien,” Tina says as she cleans off her clay mask, “What would you do?”

“Friendly or unfriendly?” Santana asks, filing her nails. “Hot or not?”

“What does potential hotness have to do with anything?” Blaine asks, reaching forward to grab a handful of Mike and Ikes.

“You’re lying if you never wanted to fuck an alien,” Santana points the file at him, “You’ve all seen Star Trek. Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t take the chance to be the first person to bang a Martian.”

“Of course I don’t!” Kurt says incredulously, “What if I end up with some sort of space STI?”

“Space-TI,” Tina says quietly, snickering.

“You can only get those with aliens from Uranus,” Santana quips, and Mercedes cackles. Blaine rolls his eyes. “You’d be first to die if you kept trying to have sex with the alien, San.”

“As long as they got space penicillin I’ll be fine,” Santana waves him off, “Can’t be worse than that time I got a yeast infection from that hot lawyer.”

“God, please don’t remind me of that,” Mercedes mutters, “That afternoon in the clinic with you was not pleasant.”

That sentence starts a train of thought in the back of Blaine’s mind, ticking away as his friends bounce half-hearted insults back and forth, turning over and over until -

The thought hits Blaine like a truck.

_What if Mat slept with someone else?_

Suddenly cold, he pulls his knees to his chest.

_No, not even that - who else did Benji sleep with? Oh god, it could have been anyone, anywhere._

He backpedals through his mind, trying to remember the last time he got tested. It must have been right at the beginning of their relationship, and once they had the conversation about being exclusive -

The junk food in his stomach starts to churn, nauseating. The conversation goes on around him but he doesn’t hear a thing, picking at his nail beds as his brain starts to whirl. He’s so absorbed in his thoughts that it takes Santana snapping her fingers in front of his face twice to get his attention.

“What?” he says, “Sorry, I was - distracted.”

“I said what kind of pizza do you want?”

“I don’t mind,” he says, even though the thought of eating pizza making him want to throw up. “Whatever you guys want.”

“Meat feast!” Kurt and Tina say in startling unison. Blaine manages to smile at that. “Sounds good.”

“Oh shit, they have a two for one offer if you collect,” Santana says, tapping at her screen. “How thrifty are we feeling this evening, ladies and gays?”

“Very,” Blaine says quietly, “Sorry, guys.”

“Quiet, Anderson, you’re not paying.” She waves him off. The nickname would usually make Blaine smile, but all it does is remind him that he was supposed to be a Taylor.

“Order in, San, I’m not leaving the apartment again today.” Kurt’s head is tipped back against the couch, a sheet mask over his face. “I’m not contaminating this face with New York air.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Tina announces, “I want this bubble mask off.”

“Bring me a glass of water on your way back?” Kurt requests, one hand flailing in the air as he tries to get her attention. Tina hums, but Blaine sees the opportunity to get a moment away from everyone and says, “I got it, Kurt.”

“Thanks, B,” he hears faintly as he gets up. Blaine leans over the sink, takes a moment to breathe, re-evaluate.

“You’re going to be okay,” he says under his breath, “You’re going to be fine. Just hold it together until the end of the night. No more crying.”

The panic that suffused him has yet to fade, though, and he closes his eyes and bends forward, pressing his head against the cool countertop. After finally getting a hold of himself, feeling like he can cope, he’s been sent spinning aimlessly out into space again.

Blaine’s so absorbed in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear Tina’s footsteps approaching. It’s only when her hand lays on his back that he jolts and stands up, startled.

“Tina,” he says, “Sorry, I -”

“Are you okay?” she asks, “You got real quiet real quick.”

“I’m okay.” Blaine breathes in shakily. “I just - I realised -”

Tina gazes at him, her face open and sympathetic, and Blaine confesses it all in an undertone.

“I think I need to go to a clinic.”

Tina looks confused for a moment, and then her eyes widen. “Oh. _Oh_. Okay.”

“Please don’t say anything to anyone else, I feel like an idiot.” Blaine hugs his elbows against his sides. “It’s so humiliating.”

“It’s okay,” she pats his shoulder gently, “Listen, I have a friend who works at Planned Parenthood. We’ll figure this out tomorrow, okay?”

Blaine nods, blinking several times to suppress tears. “I’m so stupid.”

“He’s the stupid one here.” Tina magically whips a tissue from her pocket and presses it into his hand. “You’re a catch, Blaine, and he doesn’t deserve you.”

He sniffs, wiping his eyes. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course.” She takes his spare hand. “We’ll get something to eat afterwards, do some shopping, and no one needs to know.”

Blaine’s heart, so freshly broken, aches in his chest. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Tina smiles, pats his cheek gently. “I’m pretty sure it was when you came to a sleepover at Kurt’s and made me the best grilled cheese of my life.”

Blaine snorts into the tissue. “I did?”

“That was when I decided you were going to be my friend.” She pats his cheeks dry with the sleeves of her shirt. “It’s going to be okay, Blainey-days.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Blaine repeats, like saying it will make it true. “It’s going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i have nothing to say for myself except huge apologies!  
> i'm currently working on my dissertation so there probably won't be another update until the summer but HOPEFULLY then i'll actually update regularly. uni is kicking my ass but it'll be done in a month and a half and then it's all writing all the time, babey!  
> thank you all for your patience and i hope you enjoyed this very overdue chapter.


End file.
